


Miracles

by Creme13rulee



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Drabble ?, M/M, Medical Trauma, Mpreg, Omega Katsuki Yuuri, Omega Verse, Recovery, caretaker viktor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21678448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creme13rulee/pseuds/Creme13rulee
Summary: Viktor and Yuuri face down another competition during their second year as coach/student and competitors. It is perfect-- until Viktor gives Yuuri an extra hour to nap while he attends  practice for men's free skate. Yuuri never arrives-- the taxi he took from the hotel hit by a drunk driver. One nap and their life is changed forever- in more ways than one.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 76
Kudos: 640





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for clicking in!
> 
> This is kind of a vent fic, and something I've been thinking about it the past couple days. I am really stressed with coworkers and grad school. I want to write more chapters, but this is more of a dabble in a situation that a set-out plot. There's no schedule or set ending in mind. This is an outlet for me- comments are appreciated and treasured.
> 
> Come see me retweet memes on my public twitter @cremewrites

Viktor pushed himself through another run-through of his step sequence, stepping out of the ending combo with a grimace.

_ Yuuri should be here by now. _

Viktor had left Yuuri with the luxurious treat of another hour of sleep. He had swept the competition the day before, and their day off between competitions had been a late night. As his coach, Viktor knew Yuuri performed better when he got enough sleep. As his husband, Viktor couldn’t say no to Yuuri’s face, especially after the night they had together.

So Viktor had set an alarm, called concierge to do a wake up call, and kissed his husband on the forehead before leaving for the venue for extra ice time. It had been hard to figure out the Yuuri’s-coach-Yakov’s-student at first, but it they found a pattern that worked. Yuuri was a night owl, so his coaching happened in the afternoon, after a longer rest and warm up that overlapped with Viktor’s time with Yakov. It was natural, so it felt fine.

Until Yuuri was late. Yuuri would fight waking up, and charm his way into an hour more.. But the one thing his anxiety never let him do was miss a promised time.

So now, twenty minutes past the time Yuuri would arrive at the rink--- with added time for washing his face, and stopping for a coffee from the hotel lobby-- Viktor was worried.

“Vitya!” Yakov barked from the boards as Yurio whizzed by.

“You’re distracted. Go check on him.” Yakov grunted when Viktor skated close enough to hear.

Viktor sighed-- the only person that knew him better than Yakov was Yuuri.

Viktor stepped off the ice, pulling his phone out of his jersey and turning on the screen.

No messages. 

He opened messages just to be sure, opening the page from Yuuri--which still was Yuuri’s order in careful cyrllic from before they left for competition. (They had spent every minute together since.)

Would it be overbearing to call?

He waited until practice was declared over before he folded.

Viktor worried his bottom lip, stepping out to the outer hall before tapping ‘call’.

Busy.

Viktor felt a growl bubble up from his chest, before instantly another call flashed on his screen.

Unknown-- but a Russian number, and they were in Sochi after spending the summer in Hasetsu. Maybe Yuuri had lost his phone?

“Da?” Viktor answered, a sick feeling rising in his throat in the split seconds between picking up and knowing if it was Yuuri or not.

“Do you know a Yuuri.. Katsky??” A female voice asked. Viktor’s heart skipped a beat.

“Katsuki-Nikiforov. My husband. It doesn’t fit on the badges.” Viktor grabbed at the credentials lanyard hanging from his own neck-- he was fine with Viktor Katsuki. Yuuri prefered Nikiforov. 

His mouth was suddenly dry. “Why?”

“We found you as an emergency contact, but the phone died before the call would connect.” The woman on the line took a deep breath. “Does he have any allergies or reactions to medications?”

“No-- why? Why can’t he tell you?” Viktor’s voice rose and broke, his hands shaking and knees weak. “He knows Russian. Where is he?”

The woman was silent. “I’m training to be a paramedic. They’re helping them… but… we’re on Chaikovsky street. A wrong way driver…. Your husband is unresponsive…”

The world shifted--set off its axis. Viktor’s throat closed, his mind humming two meters to the left of his body.

“Oh--we’re… he’s in transit to Hospital N9.” The woman’s voice became fainter. Doors slammed in the background-- then the loud screech of a saw blade against metal.

~

Viktor kept Yuuri’s olympic jersey in a tight fist, pressing the bunched fabric to his nose and mouth. The hospital reeked of distress, and Yuuri’s shirt helped block it. 

Yakov had brought it with him after officially withdrawing Yuuri and Viktor from competition.

Then Yuri and Phichit withdrew from competition, joining Viktor in the waiting room of the N9.

Four hours. Competition was slated to begin when they finally updated Yuuri’s placement on the computer screen and the surgeon stepped out to talk to Viktor.

Viktor hadn’t eaten for ten hours, but he still felt sick when the doctor sat down, waiting for Viktor to do the same.

“Yuu--your mate pulled through. We decided to put him in an induced coma until the brain swelling goes down a bit. It’s easier to manage any pain he has this way.”

“Pain?” Viktor rasped.

“His right arm and left leg were crushed-- as well as his head-- likely from whiplash. We set them in surgery, but he has splints until the swelling goes down. It’s likely he has bruised ribs, but thankfully the baby’s heartbeat remains strong.”

“The  _ what?”  _ Viktor felt his world shift again. 

“Ah… preliminary blood tests showed a possibility, and a diagnostic ultrasound showed us that the fetus was unharmed in the accident.” The surgeon blushed. “We have omega specialists in the ICU, but it’s really a miracle how it happened.”

“Yuuri’s pregnant?” Viktor sunk back in his chair, pushing his hair back off his forehead. 

“Did...you not know?” the surgeon blanched.

“No.” Viktor breathed, looking a little pale. “There’s a heartbeat?”

“Y-yes. It looks to be around nine weeks.”

Viktor counted back on his hands, stunned. “Our first week in Hasetsu.” He mumbled, before he shook his head. “I need to see him.”

“He’s still in recovery, but close family can visit before he is transferred to his room.”

Viktor followed the surgeon blindly, his eyes searching every curtain and corner of the recovery suite.

His resolve crumbled, his vision immediately blurring with tears that immediately overflowed onto his cheeks.

Yuuri was broken-- his practice jersey he was supposed to wear cut away and replaced with bandages, a hospital robe draped over his chest and hips. His arms and left leg weighed down with large gauze covered splints, his head wrapped similarly-- the early stages of bruising already blooming on his cheek.

Even worse was all the tubes-- one down his throat, another clipped to a swollen finger with a red light. Another snaked out from underneath the hospital robe to a container by his bed, and even more into a PICC line in his arm. Viktor’s husband was part machine, his chest rising and falling in time with the whirr of the machine, five bags draining into him at once.

“Yuuri…” Viktor sobbed. He sank against the bed, pressing his ear to Yuuri’s heart.

It still beat. Much like the heartbeat of the surprise baby Yuuri was growing inside of him.

Viktor watched Yuuri’s heart rate spike when he pressed his fingers to his bonding mark. He didn’t dare move his neck to scent him more-- not when his head was bandaged so.

It wasn’t right. Viktor had imagined going to a drug store together, posting an instagram selfie to announce it. Instead, Viktor somehow knew before Yuuri did.

He’d have to wait. Wait until Yuuri was awake to tell him-- keep the miracle safe between them.

“Yuuri,” Viktor, kissing the tan line where Yuuri’s ring would be--- if it weren’t cut off, to avoid hurting him while his body swelled and reacted to the trauma.

A drunk driver-- wrong way down the road, directly into Yuuri’s side of the taxi.

The police had come to take a statement, unaware that their victim was voiceless.

In a cruel twist of fate, the driver of the taxi remained unharmed, and the drunk driver in stable condition.

Viktor stayed with Yuuri until they moved him to a room, and not just a highly monitored curtained bed. He watched as they switched him to battery power, and then plugged him in again-- this time in a room with a window overlooking a setting sun. The room remained private-- Viktor fantasized meeting the driver and pulling every cord out of them, slow and painful until they went still.

Yakov arrived when it was dark, placing a cup of tea in Viktor’s hand and a coat on his shoulder. Yuri and Phichit were conspicuously absent, leaving Yakov to unwrap the paper container of stew while Viktor watched Yuuri.

The longer he spent out of recovery, the anesthesia wearing off the less still he became. Viktor watched-- every flutter of eyelashes, every roll of eyes under lids, he stroked Yuuri’s free fingers and whispered consolations to his husband. 

Yuri and Phichit visited on the second day, when Yuuri was still moving only by machine, the bruises on his cheekbones a gnarly purple. Yuuri’s room filled with flowers and stuffed poodles, the largest bouquet sent from the ISU.

By the fifth day, the doctor declared the swelling down enough to bring Yuuri out of the induced coma. Viktor fought with worry and joy-- it was good, but it meant he would be conscious of what he went through.

His eyes flickered open before he was entirely awake, his beautiful honey brown eyes moving unseeingly, his fingers curling and uncurling as he rose out of the fog.

Viktor watched carefully-- he had taken a shower in the minutes after the doctor had told him to news so that he would be there the moment Yuuri was lucid. 

First came the fighting against the ventilator-- the machine wheezing with the extra power of conscious breath. They extubated him not soon after, Yuuri’s face crumpled in discomfort despite his lack of lucidity. 

Then came the moment-- the split second when Yuuri’s eyes opened, fluttering before they fought to focus. He squinted-- his glasses not with him at the scene of the accident-- finding Viktor’s eyes first.

“Good morning,” Viktor squeezed Yuuri’s hand, tearing up when Yuuri immediately squeezed back.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri rasped, his voice ravaged from ventilation and a dry mouth.

“Oh, no. Never,” Viktor’s voice broke. “Never apologize for something that’s not your fault.” He watched Yuuri try to move, his jaw tightening at the careful movement of his heavy casts.

They had consulted Viktor-- advising it would be better to cast so he could sit in a wheelchair, his casted arms making him a fall risk-- something doubly dangerous at the revelation of his pregnancy.

“Can I help?” Viktor sat up from his perch, the bedside chair pulled next to Yuuri’s bed. He had stacked two chairs to make a bed even with Yuuri’s without encroaching on his space.

“My hair itches,” Yuuri grunted, his breath hitching as he arched his back.

“Here,” Viktor ran his fingers along his husband’s hairline, before kissing the crinkle on his forehead from his furrowed brow.

“What did I do?” Yuuri croaked, Viktor immediately stretching to hit the call button.

“Nothing. Some idiot drove into your taxi and nearly killed you.” Viktor thought he had heard the words together enough that they wouldn’t sting as much. “You’re okay though. You will be.”

“What about the Trophee...d…” Yuuri mumbled, frowning as Viktor’s scoff.

“No competitions for a while, love. You’re in the intensive care unit.”

“You… can still…” Yuuri licked his dry lips.

“No! There’s no way I can leave my mate, especially now!” Viktor stopped to request water and ice for Yuuri, patting his pockets for chapstick.

“I’m… in a hospital?” Yuuri scanned the room. “I’m okay.” He offered a sweet smile, and Viktor almost caved.

“Yuuri...it’s.. Complicated.” Viktor breathed, pulling out a half-empty tin from the jacket Yakov brought from his hotel room. Yuuri pursed his lips, kissing his fingers as Viktor rubbed the chapstick across his lips.

“You’re sighing,” Yuuri obediently took the neon straw into his mouth from the offered water cup.

“Yuuri… beautiful, perfect Yuuri…” Viktor sighed wrapping his hand around the few non-casted fingers Yuuri had. “You’re pregnant.”

Yuuri choked. Viktor laughed for the first time in a week, wiping the dribble off Yuuri’s chin.

“Not funny. Is… is it still alive?” Yuuri coughed, the anxiety creeping in already.

“They recorded the heartbeat night before last.” Viktor reached for his phone to open the video he had taken. “You’re a miracle, my Yuuri.” 

Yuuri blinked, before his eyes sparkled and his lips hardened into a straight line, and he broke down, tears spilling down his cheeks and a quiet sob escaping his lips.

“Are you in pain?” Viktor scrambled for the call button again, before Yuuri’s keening cry of his name stopped him short. He hiccuped, his face crumpled in pain.

“W-we- w-- we ha-a-ve a ba-a-by,” Yuuri sobbed, sniffling. Viktor fought the urge to squeeze his husband, tears stinging his own eyes.

  
  


“I-I g-get V-Viktor N-n-n-ikiforov’s baby!” Yuuri hiccuped, his smile wide and tear-stained. 

“Hey,” Viktor said sharply, cupping Yuuri’s cheek in his hand. “Katsuki-Nikiforov.”

“It’s g-g-onna be s--ssO, pretty, Vitya-a,” Yuuri cooed, squeezing his eyes shut. 

He’d probably be wiggling if he wasn’t in pain and weighed down by three casts and a bruised, pregnant body.

“I’ll be even happier when you stop talking like we’re not married.” Viktor laughed, feeling lighter than he had in days. 

“I’ve wanted this since I was fourteen,” Yuuri hissed, moving his less injured arm to his stomach. 

“The doctors told me you’d be loopy,” Viktor cooed, pressing a careful kiss to his husbands bruised cheek. “I should be recording this.”

“Get me my pants… we have to tell Yura…” Yuuri sniffled coming down from the emotional high.

“Yuu-ri,” Viktor sang. “You’ve been in bed for a week, and both of your arms and a leg are in casts. We’re not going anywhere.”

“But… his face…” Yuuri licked his lips again, and Viktor remembered himself enough to put the water cup straw to his lips.

“One day at a time.” Viktor breathed. He had repeated that every day that week. 

One day at a time.


	2. One more day

Viktor needed to take each day at a time-- as the days didn’t get any easier with Yuuri awake.

He watched as an occupational therapist assessed Yuuri’s swallowing, and other doctors shined lights in Yuuri’s eyes, read his blood pressure, and unwound gauze and bandages. He stood back as his husband was manhandled, moved and touched by a long parade of specialists. He watched as Yuuri grew quieter and quieter, withdrawing into himself the more he was assessed.

Every time Yuuri dozed off, he only managed a few minutes before it was time for another blood draw or test of some sort. 

“Are you thirsty?” Viktor hovered nearby, playing with the straw in the paper cup. “Hungry?”

Yuuri blinked, emerging from his blank-stare watching of a reality TV show Viktor had found on the in-room television. His eyes focused, slowly moving to Viktor. He forced a smile, reminding himself not to touch Yuuri. Not when he had flinched away earlier that evening. 

“I...hot cocoa…” Yuuri murmured, grimacing as he shifted an arm. Viktor immediately moved the pillows underneath it, fluffing them back up so he was cradled perfectly. 

“I can order some,” Viktor hummed, freezing at the soft whimper that escaped his mate’s lips. “Yuuri, are you in pain?”

Yuuri didn’t answer-- his way of getting around being a bad liar. “I want hot cocoa.” He said instead, closing his eyes. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor frowned. “You need to tell the doctor so they give you the medicine right away.”

“I’m fine,” Yuuri bit back. “You’re not listening.”

“I’m getting a nurse,” Viktor stood taller, stalking toward the door before he was stopped dead in his track by Yuuri’s tearful cry.

“Don’t!” Yuuri keened. “I… I just… I want to know if I feel any different.”

Viktor wilted, his stomach twisting just at his imagining of how his husbands face looked right now. “Of course you feel different, you broke six different bones.” He felt himself into lecture mode a la Yakov. “You also had brain trauma. It’s a lot to--” Viktor lost his train of thought at the sheer irritation on his husbands face. It was impish and actually really cute, if not troubling. Yuuri’s cheeks puffed out in a sour pout, his right hand resting on his belly, his fingers slowly stroking small lines into the fabric of his hospital gown.

“They said nine weeks, love. It’s too early to tell yet.” 

“Too early for you.” Yuuri grumbled.

“I’ll get you a cocoa.” Viktor paused to kiss the crown of Yuuri’s head, before speedwalking down the hall to the coffee vending machine he vaguely remembered seeing in the lobby.  
It ended up being a floor down, and after getting lost and passing on a crowded elevator, the bell finally rang on Yuuri’s floor. Viktor cradled the paper cup carefully as he ducked past the nurses’ station, the scalding liquid splashing onto his shoes when he stopped dead.

Yuuri’s door was opened, and the light outside flashed blue. Several voices spoke, their words tumbling into the hallway, undecipherable.

Lost under the gasping death rattle and steady beat of something hitting a hard surface.   
Viktor stepped back to Yuuri’s room to see two nurses holding him up on his side, his casted limbs jerking and smacking the bed rails.

Panic took over, the screaming pain from his feet and hands lost under the static of terror.

Blood dribbled from Yuuri’s lips, his chin tucked into his chest as his breath gurgled and stuttered in his chest.

All at once, he stopped, going limp, breathing freely with a long, soft gasp. 

“Two minutes,” One of the nurses said to the other, sweeping a gloved hand through Yuuri’s mouth. Had Viktor been gone two minutes?

His eyelids fluttered open, and he groaned as the nurses lifted and rearranged him. His eyelids drooped, weighed down by exhaustion.

“What happened? He’s in pain. He needs morphine-- something.” Viktor barked out in hurried Russian. The nurses looked up, surprised by his presence.

“He just had a seizure.” The nurse that had stuck her hand in Yuuri’s mouth said it as if she was reporting on the weather. “Has he ever had one before?”

“No! I, uh.. I don’t think so. Not for the past three years.” Viktor swallowed, regretting every second away from Yuuri.

“We’ll add it to his care plan.” The second nurse smoothed Yuuri’s hair back in a motherly gesture-- he was already fast asleep.


	3. Family

Viktor didn’t dare leave Yuuri’s side again, the hot cocoa going cold on Yuuri’s bedside table. He pushed Yuuri’s morphine drip button, adding another dose every fifteen minutes as Yuuri slept. He needed it-- the seizing probably aggravated his injuries despite the casts.

Viktor watched Yuuri intently, counting the rise and fall of his chest, the soft twitch of his fingers.

He didn’t notice the buzz of his phone until 20 missed calls lit up the screen. Viktor pulled it off the charger, unlocking it with Yuuri's birthday punched in as the passcode. A call immediately filled the screen before Viktor could even open the phone app-- an unknown number from Japan.

“Hello?” Viktor coughed, his voice gravelly and tight from the past hour’s events. 

“Viktor!” Mari growled, the voice immediately familiar, the soft u at the end of his name something everyone in the Katsuki family but Yuuri said. “You…. stupid!” She fought for the right word.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor nodded to himself, acknowledging what had to be the truth. It had been days-- it was probably on the news, the ISU had released a statement. But there was no one to contact Yuuri’s family. There was-- Viktor was Yuuri’s coach, after all. But he had spent the past eight days keeping vigil over Yuuri.

“Not good enough.” Mari bit, before she took a shaky breath. “Yuuri?”

“He’s… okay.” Viktor looked back at his husband, reaching over to push the button on his IV one more time. “H-he broke his arms, and a leg… bruised some ribs… his head. He has…” Viktor struggled to find the english… “Pripádok...ah...his brain…”

“Can he talk?” Mari cut him off. “Can he eat?”

“Yes… ah..” Viktor hadn’t seen Yuuri eat yet. He had been on a IV feed for the time he was in the induced coma, and since then the only food past his lips had been delivered by the occupational therapist.

“Let me talk to him,” Mari said forcefully, and Viktor didn’t argue. He couldn’t.. He had left Yuuri’s family in the dark for too long. Not on purpose, but still far too long.

“Yuuri… my love, wake up.” Viktor placed a hand on his arm, before moving to shake his shoulder. Yuuri’s face crumpled into a frown, his eyelids heavy. “It’s Mari.”

Viktor put the phone on speaker as Yuuri blinked awake, his tongue running over his dry lips. “Mari-nee-chan?” 

Mari fell into rapid-fire Japanese, her dialect too strong and too emotional for Viktor to understand any of it despite Yuuri’s best efforts to teach him. He instead paid attention to Yuuri, his melodic, tired voice. He recognized  _ okaasan  _ and  _ otousan _ , Hiroko and Toshiya’s voice joining in the call not long after.

“ _ Jitsu wa… ninshinshittoru..” _ Yuuri’s voice shook as he said it, one hand moved protectively over his stomach and his eyes lifted to find Viktor’s.

Viktor blinked rapidly, squeezing his phone tighter as their family on the other end of the line gasped and cheered. Mari flatly continued to question Yuuri-- if Viktor could guess, on the condition of the baby and Yuuri and what they knew. They continued to talk, Hiroko’s tone excited and sing-songy, her son answering faithfully even as he fought to keep his eyes open.

“ _ Sumimasen…”  _ Viktor edged in after a good ten minutes of Yuuri fighting unconsciousness. “Yuuri...sleep.” 

He listened as they all wished Yuuri a goodnight, Mari staying on the line.

“Viktor.” She snapped. “Never make me look for you again.”

~

Yuuri got an hour nap before the nurses came in with a bath kit. Viktor had expected a mobile tub, a shower or something-- especially now that Yuuri was awake. But instead they continued the sponge baths, pulling washcloths out of pre-packaged kits. It was the first time Yuuri was awake for it, and Viktor realized the effect it had on him immediately.

“Can I do it?” Viktor stepped forward, pushing aside the curtain they had pulled around Yuuri’s bed. “I watched for the past week. I can do it. It would make him more comfortable.” Viktor spoke in russian, making no effort to slow down. Yuuri’s cheeks were red, his mouth a hard-pressed line as he focused at the end of the bed, halfway out of his hospital gown.

“I can train you…” The nurse said slowly, handing over the washcloth. “We start---” She drifted off, watching as Viktor automatically started with Yuuri’s face. He cupped Yuuri’s face as he cleaned the dried tear-tracks from his cheeks. He set it aside to pull the gown off the rest of the way, pulling off the disposable underwear with gentle, slow movements.

Viktor paused, avoiding the large mottled bruises that covered Yuuri’s sides, focusing on the soft swell of his belly instead. It was early, still, and it reminded him of the first few weeks of the off-season where Viktor indulged Yuuri in celebrating the season’s successes with eating whatever he wanted. But they were in the throes of the season, and Yuuri was in his best shape. It wasn’t a bloat or extra kilogram-- it was a baby.

“Wow…” He breathed, Yuuri’s eyes lifting to meet Viktor’s as he swept the washcloth over Yuuri’s stomach.

The nurse helped lift Yuuri, telling Viktor where to wipe the CHG cleaning wipes before finishing with lotion. 

“Can I brush my teeth?” Yuuri asked after he was dressed, his back sore from trying to assist-- and accidentally kicking Viktor in the stomach. He still felt bad, although Viktor seemed lost in thought. Yuuri’s anxiety provided some reasons… but in reality, Viktor was calculating what size in sweatpants would fit over Yuuri’s skater-thighs-plus-cast and still fit at the waist.

“Of course! I’ll be right back,” The nurse took the disposable kit, whisking it away to bring back a plastic-wrapped off-white toothbrush, a plastic bin and bottle of water. Yuuri picked up the toothbrush fine, but struggled with peeling open the sealed edges of the packaging. Viktor tore it off, placing the brush in Yuuri’s hands, only to discover he couldn’t both grasp the handle arm move the brush at the correct angle. His wrists after all, locked in a cast that went up nearly to his underarms.

“Can I help?” Viktor offered, waiting until Yuuri growled in frustration. He squeezed the tiny one-use tube of toothpaste he had shaken out of the plastic onto the brush, trying not to notice the look of defeat on his husbands face. He obediently opened his mouth and tilted his head as Viktor methodically brushed his teeth, offering him some water to rinse his mouth before using the floss pick on every tooth. 

“I’ll get an electric toothbrush, moya lubov.” Viktor hummed after Yuuri spit into the plastic basin a second time, already looking exhausted. 

“I want Makkachin,” Yuuri’s voice came out in a thick, soft whine. Viktor blinked, plopping down on his bedside chair. 

“Remember when she ate my toothbrush?” Yuuri continued, tearing up. “Not like the manju, but, she was mad at us for shopping all day.”

“Yes, I do. It didn’t look like a toothbrush at the end of the day. She hadn’t done that since she was a puppy.” Viktor smiled, the memory warming his heart a little despite his husbands tragic expression.

“We need more poodles,” Yuuri continued in earnest.

“Do we? Even with a baby on the way?” Viktor raised an eyebrow.

“The baby needs a poodle.” Yuuri retorted in a tone that obviously said ‘don’t be stupid, Viktor’. “A mini poodle. So they are the same size.”

“I’ll get right on it, love.” Viktor smiled, smoothing back Yuuri’s hair tenderly. 

“I’m serious, Viktor,” Yuuri frowned. “The baby needs someone that loves it all the time.”

“Isn’t that what parents are for?” Viktor pulled up one of the sleeves of Yuuri’s gown so it sat on his shoulder instead of slipping off.

“Yes--no-- but listen. The baby is part me, and that means they’re going to be a little wierd… they need a friend no matter what.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor sighed. “The baby is part you, and everyone will love them because of that.”

“Stop being sappy. This is about poodles.” Yuuri muttered, and Viktor lost it. He broke down into laughter, giggling until his stomach hurt. Yuuri remained indignant, frowning until Viktor littered his face with kisses.

“Of course. A poodle for everyone.”


	4. Yura

“You look like shit, old man.” 

Yuri stepped into the room the next morning, his arms folded protectively around his chest and clutching a paper back.

“Thanks,” Viktor said wryly, stretching the best he could in the limited room. The nurses had provided him a cot, but it was meant for transferring patients and not for long-term comfort. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be back in Piter?”

“There and back already,” Yuri frowned. “You’re welcome, by the way. I’ve been walking your stupid dog every day after pratice. I should charge you.”

“Oh. I’d pay.” Viktor blinked, watching little Yuri stare at Yuuri’s sleeping form.

“Is he okay? Alright in the head?” Yuri asked brusquely, his eyes lingering on the casts. Viktor had expected to be asked what color Yuuri preferred-- something-- but his casts ended up a sterile gauze white.

“He…. he has seizures.” Viktor faltered, unable to look at his husband without touching him. “ He was in a coma for the pain, but he hit his head too. He talks fine… he remembers me. He can’t walk, but that’s because his arms won’t work with crutches.”

“Can he eat?” Yuri held the paper bag tightly, the paper crinkling under his grip. “Mila and I…” He trailed off. “Yakov just heated them in the hotel room.”

“Yakov’s here too?” Viktor’s eyes widened. “What about everyone else?”

“Someone had to stay with Makkachin,” Yuri rolled his eyes.

“No-- I mean-- it’s the middle of the season. You should be practicing.” Viktor stood up, flattered but overwhelmed.

“I can’t get into it when I’m worried about Katsudon-- and you just keep posting dog memes on instagram, it’s really annoying.” Yuri grunted. “You spend night and day here and for what? No one knows if Katsudon is alive. Yakov had the Japan embassy on his ass because his family couldn’t call him.”

Viktor swallowed back his guilt. “Thank you,” He breathed, going from smoothing back Yuuri’s hair to stroking his cheek. “Yuuri, you have a visitor…” He sing-sang. He groaned rather cutely, scrunching his eyes before opening them regretfully.

“Yura?” Yuuri whispered, a sweet smile gracing his face. “Congratulations!” 

“For what?” Yuri frowned, his grip on the paper bag tightening.

“You got gold, right? You… you were at the top...before..” Yuuri blinked. He remembered the competition, but the free day and the day of the crash were hazy.

Yuri looked away. “Uh...sure.” He mumbled. He had been in the top, but then Yuuri and Viktor had dropped out, and the news in the minutes before he stepped on the ice had been grave. He had skated-- the worst routine of his career. But it hadn’t mattered-- because Yakov wasn’t at the boards watching, and Yuri hadn’t been the only one to lose it on the ice.  
“You doing okay?” Yuri mumbled, thrusting out the bag in his hands. “Mila and I made these for you. Yakov and I cooked them before he showed up. I know hospital food is shit.”

“Thank you, Yura,” Yuuri took the bag, and Viktor caught it before it slipped completely out of his fingers. He set it on Yuuri’s chest, his mouth tight as Yuuri took too long to maneuver past the wax paper and pull out a katsudon piroshki.

“Should you be eating?” Viktor’s voice was tight as Yuuri awkwardly held the pastry by pressing his hands together, turning his casted arms at the shoulders. Yuuri ignored him, biting into the flaky crust and chewing slowly.

“If I can have cocoa, I can have piroshky,” Yuuri said through a full mouth. “I’m eating for two,” He added, nearly dropping the piroshky from his awkward grip.

“You’re what?” Yuri’s spine straightened with a jolt.

“Pregnant,” Yuuri answered frankly, obediently taking a drink from the straw set in a sterile white cup Viktor held up to him.  
“Are we telling everyone now, lyubov?” Viktor asked carefully, feeling Yuri’s glare through his back. 

“It’s Yura,” Yuuri answered just as frankly.

“Are you sure? Didn’t you almost die?” Yuri sputtered. 

He waited for a response that never came. Yuuri stared blankly, his eyelashes fluttering before he automatically took another bite of the piroshky without a word. As if his brain was a computer that had rebooted and opened at the last saved spot.

“Katsudon?” Yuri looked sideways at Viktor, his nerves showing through. Viktor just smoothed Yuuri’s hair off his forehead, careful not to touch the staples on either side of his head. 

“Ask him again?” Viktor’s heart broke a little more at the small wrinkle of confusion that formed on Yuuri’s brow. He never remembered missing anything, but that was typical. Viktor had spent the night before reading every page on seizures in Russian and English.

“I thought you died.” Yuri huffed. Yuuri gave up on eating, resting his hands on his stomach.

“Oh no. They said I was awake for the ambulance. They just made me have a coma.” Yuuri said it too casually, when just the word ambulance made Viktor feel sick.

“Yuuri, I think you should stop eating,” Viktor fussed when his husbands eyelids fluttered again. He took the piroshky and set it on the bedside table and rubbed his finger along Yuuri’s bottom lip.

“Can’t you take medicine for that?” Yuri’s voice was tight and uncomfortable.

“No,” Yuuri easily replied.

“But-- Yuuri--” Viktor interrupted. “You can’t just go untreated--”

“I’m not risking anything.” His hand cupped his stomach, and Viktor’s own filled with dread. Yuuri was stubborn already, and to add paternal instinct.

“I’m sure there are safe medications. You could hurt yourself and the baby with a seizure.” Viktor’s voice rose. Yuuri looked away, his mouth stubbornly set.

“I can’t fall anywhere. I can’t even stand up.”

“And what about when you can?” Viktor faltered.

“Then I’ll be better.” Yuuri said bluntly.

He hadn’t been there for the doctor’s debrief. About the months of physical therapy. Of how unsure they were about how the injury affected Yuuri’s cognition.

“Fine,” Viktor swallowed, turning his back to his husband. But Yuri still saw the glint of tears in his eyes.


	5. Laundromat

“I’m here to get you out of here. Yakov was right. I don’t think you’ve been outside in week.” Yuri grunted after a too long awkward silence.

“I can’t leave.” Viktor replied just as bluntly. The last time I did, Yuuri started having seizures.

“You have another five minutes before Yakov comes and tries. He’s going to bring you to a laundromat. Maybe somewhere that can fix your face.” Yuri puffed up his chest, watching Viktor for a moment.

“I’ll be here, Viktor. He won’t be alone. I’ll even entertain him.” Yuri added, under his breath. Viktor faltered.

“I can’t leave him alone. He’s my husband.” Viktor pushed his hair off of his forehead with a sigh.

“Leave.” Yuuri said after another fluttering of his dark lashes. Viktor blinked, stunned and unsure if he had really heard what Yuuri had just said.

“But, Yuuri…” Viktor sounded even more pitiful than he felt.

“You need a break… and… I want to nest, and some pants… anything that isn’tfrom here.” Yuuri added, his tone a little softer and more Yuuri-like. He reached out, taking Viktor’s right hand in his fingers and pulling it to his lips. “Please?”

“Okay,” Viktor sighed, relieved and guilty all at once. He made sure Yuri had his phone number on speed dial, and he condensed Yuuri’s suitcases into his--they had only packed for a few days and mostly for the competition, and they did need a wash. Somewhere that didn’t use the too-strong descenting detergent and bleach like the hospital did.

“I love you,” Viktor leaned down to kiss Yuuri’s cheek.

“I know,” Yuuri smiled, before blushing and doing his best to lift himself to kiss Viktor back.

He made it to the front nurses’ station before being stopped.

“Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki?” An old man stuttered nervously. He had a old leather jacket and a hat that belonged in the soviet era. There was a younger man next to him, his arm bandaged and face white. Viktor would have passed them off, except for the blue-framed glasses and poodle-case iphone sitting in the old mans open palms.

“Yes?” Viktor paused. The younger man held a large bouqet. Then it clicked. It was the man pictured in the news reports about Yuuri’s accident. The taxi driver, struck by an anonymous drunk driver.

“I own the taxi service. We wanted to say how very very sorry we are. See, Anatoly works for his wife and children, and he’s my best worker. He’s the first guy outside of my family-- it’s just us lately--” The old man rambled his hands shaking. 

Viktor picked up Yuuri’s glasses-- they had been cleaned and shined-- Viktor could tell, the sheen of face powder usually left on them during competitions gone. They had been thrown off during the accident, fortunately faring better than Yuuri’s shattered iphone.

“Thank you. I have no intention of suing you or your company.” Viktor picked up Yuuri’s phone--it would have to be completely replaced--the screen was bent, the case somehow surviving.

“I-I thank you, sir.”

“Are you doing alright? I want to thank you. It could have been much worse.” Viktor touched the arm of the driver, nervous sweat rolling down his cheek.

“I hate driving down that road. Still.” The mans voice was low, but gentle. Viktor could imagine Yuuri sitting in the taxi, playing on his phone to avoid small talk, and the driver not minding at all.

“Do you have the name of the driver?” Viktor drew his hand back, slipping Yuuri’s phone into his pants pocket and glasses into his coat pocket.

“The police do,” The driver gulped. Viktor knew this already. The police were too smart to let an alpha know the name of someone who hurt his mate. They knew Viktor Nikiforov too well.

“Well, thanks.” Viktor hid his anger with a curt nod and quick walk to the elevator bank.

First stop was a clothing store-- where Viktor begrudgingly looked for sweatpants that would fit over Yuuri’s casts and still cinch to his small waist. He wandered the aisles, feeling the insides of each sweat set to compare how soft each one was. Before he knew it, he found himself in the maternity section. Unlike Piter, Sochi mixes the unisex and female garments-- next to lacy dresses were paneled button-downs that flared out halfway down to accomodate for a belly. Cotton tunics came in navy and heather gray along with coral pink. Viktor finds himself adding maternity capris and a smart button-down shirt to his arm, next to the blue and grey sweats he know Yuuri can wear now. 

Next stop was home goods-- where Viktor bought no less than three blankets, two of them sherpa-lined. He tied the thinnest one around himself like a cape, closing his eyes and doing his best to scent them, an hour free from the hospital’s filters, de-scenting sprays and cleaners. His head already felt clearer, and even though he hated to admit it-- Yuuri was right. He needed a break. 

He gives himself time to get Yuuri’s phone replaced-- amongst the blankets was a phone stand with a bendy arm and clamp made for using tech in bed. Viktor bought it immediately , knowing Yuuri would have a hard time holding and using his phone until his arm casts were off. Which wouldn’t be for at least another month. 

He picks up another paperback to read at the laundromat, finding him stopping by the baby name books and maternity section. Everything is in Russian — something Yuuri isn’t quite fluent in yet. He grabs What to expect when you’re expecting regardless. If anything , he can read it aloud — Yuuri's listening is wonderful, his perfectionism and background in English is in the way of his reading and writing. 

Viktor has his load of laundry in the washer and paperback ready when he stops mid-step. At the end of the row is a very pregnant omega male struggling to heft a basket onto his hip. 

He shrunk away from Viktor when he approaches— he almost forgot himself. He was an alpha, married and marked or not , and the omega was alone. 

“Good morning. Can I help you?” Viktor put a hand under the bottom of the basket. The omega doesn’t look like Yuuri outside of the typical shorter and slimmer frame — the strangers hair is dark brown and eyes olive green and he has a very Russian nose. But Viktor can’t help but feel like he wants to help. 

“I’ve got it , thank you —“ the omega stutters , before his hands slip and the basket falls onto the floor. 

“Oh, sorry —“ viktor scrambled to the floor, helping to push the laundry back into the basket. “I just found out my mate is pregnant, he’s in the hospital still and I’m not sure what is okay to do or not,” Viktor blabbered on. 

“... Yuuri, right ?” The omega says softly, the basket full and on the floor between them. Viktor’s eyes widened, and he nodded eagerly. 

“Sorry… I … I just am a big fan… of ice skating…” the omega mumbled. Viktor pondered if the omega was shy , like Yuuri, or if Viktor was just that unapproachable.

“You don’t see a lot of omegas in sports, and I … I’m so sorry for what happened to Yuuri.” The omega stared down at the laundry. “I was thinking of naming him Yuuri, but then the accident happened , and there hasn’t been any news so I decided that changing it would be better.” The man kept his eyes steadily on the laundry. Embarrassed, maybe ?

“I’m glad there are people like you who are fans of Yuuri. I’m the biggest fan, you know .” Viktor smiled , the first genuine one in a while. The omega seemed to relax at that. 

“Yuuri's doing well. He’s up and talking , but it will be a while until we get to go home.” Viktor chattered on. “We’ll both miss the season , but I don’t really mind anymore—“

“I won’t tell anyone.” The omega interrupted. “I promise.”

Viktor let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thank you.”

He helped the omega to his apartment down the street, parting ways without much more of a conversation. Viktor ended up spending the next hour and a half bouncing on his feet, counting down the minutes until he could see his own omega. 

“How is he ?” Viktor asked the minute he stepped into the room. Yuri was sitting cross legged on the couch, playing a video game while Yuuri slept on his bed. 

“He had a… seizure.” Yuri mumbled. “I got the doctors. One second he was talking and the next he was …” Yuri drifted off. “ the doctors said he was fine. He kept saying sorry, then I told him to go the fuck to sleep, he looked so tired. He’s just been sleeping all day.”

Viktor looked at the tray of hospital food — a few bites taken out of the plate of pasta , the jello cup fully empty. Next to it sat a spoon and fork with a bendy plastic clip. 

“Did he eat ?” Viktor poked at the food— it was cold. 

“Yeah. Some old lady came in and made him to it with that lobster looking thing. He got mad though, so she gave up.”

Viktor’s chest tightened. Mad ? That wasn’t like Yuuri at all. He was stubborn to a fault , but he didn’t get mad at strangers. 

Viktor pulled out the scented blanket from a bag , tucking it over Yuuri and around his neck. It took about two breaths before Yuuri shifted , pulling the cloth to his nose and making a contented purring noise. Viktor pulled out the rest of the blankets , heart lifting at the sleepy smile on his mates face. 

“Come in,” Yuuri mumbles when viktor finished setting up the blanket and phone on its bendy stand.

“Come in?” Viktor laughed. 

“Don’t be a dumbass. You just build a nest. Gross .” Yuri muttered from his spot. Yuuri shifted , making just enough of a spot for Viktor to fit in. 

“What’s your password?” Viktor murmured. He knew it — but he loved hearing it. 

“12 25,” Yuuri fit himself into Viktor , his head resting on his shoulder. Viktor opened YouTube , picking out the latest dog tiktok compilation from their favorite channel. 

It finally felt like home.


	6. Taxi or bus

Viktor wasn’t ready when the discharge papers came. 

Money wasn’t a problem. He had made sure to order cast covers and a chair for the shower , a ramp for the entryway step and set of adapted utensils for the kitchens. But it was a three hour flight and an even longer train ride. One that Viktor wasn’t sure Yuuri could stand. 

He was more irritable when weaned off the morphine drip— the painkiller pills they switched him to were hard to swallow and had to be followed with a large glass of milk. They had tried a nutritional shake, but Yuuri still couldn’t manage to drink it quickly enough.. But Viktor was worried enough with having to help with Yuuri's NG tube feeding, an IV was too much. What if he injected Yuuri with air and killed him?

Somehow Yuuri seemed to understand even without Viktor voicing his fears. He rarely complained, but Viktor could see it on his face. Except when the doctor came to say he was ready to leave. Yuuri lit up, pushing eagerly onto his free foot when the nurses came to lift him into his powered wheelchair. He was unwieldy but happy , using his few free fingers to move the joystick. Viktor helped him out of a corner, focusing on his simple happiness of finally being able to wear pants. Viktor had helped pull them on, tugging the fabric over his rough casts and pulling the drawstring and tying it into a little bow. One of Yuuri’s sneakers went back into his suitcase , and there was no way Yuuri could bend over and tie it for himself , but he let Viktor do it gladly. 

In fact , Yuuri was the happier one this time , smiling sweetly when they made it out to the front drive. He closed his eyes , enjoying even the weak winter sunlight. 

“I, uh, should call a taxi..” Viiktor frowned. There was a taxi stand attached to the hospital, but none of them passing by looked like they had enough room for Yuuri's wheelchair. He spent a good ten minutes before calling Sochi's paratransit service, his Russian short and angry. He was a planner, but he somehow managed to let this transition slip out of reach.

Yuuri's jaw tightened every time a taxi slowed to a stop in front of him. He didn’t say anything but Viktor could tell. They waited half an hour before a bus rolled to a stop in front of them, beeping and letting out a huff of air as it tilted toward them and the hydraulics folded out a ramp. Viktor watched helplessly as they strapped Yuuri into the front of the bus. There was no seat next to Yuuri , so viktor had to sit kitty corner with the luggage as Yuuri was manhandled by an old man in a uniform. 

“I can’t wait till we’re home,” Yuuri murmured when they started moving. His eyes widened with each push at the gas , but he kept his face carefully controlled. Except Viktor knew his small tells-- his usual nail-biting replaced with him chewing on his bottom lip. Viktor bought air tickets on the way to the airport, only lifting his head when they pulled into a driveway and parked far too soon for it to be the airport.

The driver stopped, repeating the same routine he had for Yuuri--except this time a woman Hiroko’s age pushed a wheelchair onto the bus. Viktor fidgeted, his chest squeezing at the man strapped into the wheelchair. His gaze seemed far away and dreamy , his head lolled to the side, his chest and arms strapped to keep them in place, a towel tucked around his neck to catch any drool that trailed down his chin.

The mother muttered something in Russian, unintelligible to Viktor, but Yuuri smiled and stuttered a quick “Vse normal'no.” 

Viktor watched the woman and her son, picking at his nails and averting his gaze when the woman dabbed at her son’s chin with the towel. He was morbidly curious--- Yuuri could have been two meters away from being in the same situation. The man could smile his mouth opening and forming sounds, but no words. 

Would he been able to survive Yuuri being locked away like that? Sure, Yuuri was more irritable than before, but he could still speak and move. He was still Yuuri.

What if they hadn’t been so lucky?

“He’s seizing, young man.” The woman tapped him on the shoulder, a little too hard, snapping Viktor out of his daydreaming. Viktor startled, stumbling out of his seat as they took a corner. Blood dribbled out of Yuuri’s mouth in a thick stream as his head rocked and bobbed.

“Stop!” Viktor cried out, lifting Yuuri out of his chair and onto the filthy formica flooring. He winced at Yuuri’s arm smacked the front wheel of his chair, his shirt stained with blood as Viktor turned him onto his side. 

“Shit,” Viktor hissed when they finally stopped. The seizures weren’t getting any shorter, and it looked like Yuuri had bit into his tongue. Yuuri groaned, finally coming to after what felt like too long.

“We need to go to a hospital,” Viktor whispered, stroking the side of Yuuri’s face, pulling the packet of tissues he kept with him-- a habit ingrained in him by Hasetsu-- and pointlessly trying to wipe up the pool of blood on the gritty floor.

“I don’t want to go back,” Yuuri moaned, his head cradled in Viktor’s lap.

“But Yuuri--” Viktor breathed.

“Please, no…” Yuuri whimpered.

“What if you need stitches?” Viktor’s hand shook as they pulled through Yuuri’s hair.

“Can we just…give it ten minutes?” Yuuri mumbled, his chin covered in dried blood. Viktor swallowed, hating that he was so weak to his husband. 

“Okay.”


	7. Home

Yuuri ultimately won the argument-- the bite was shallow, the bleeding stopping soon after. They stopped to let off the mother and her son before arriving at the airport an hour later. Viktor clumsily pulled Yuuri into the family bathroom, fighting to wrestle the bloody shirt over his casts and changing him before they went through security.

Yuuri’s state had some benefits-- after nearly knocking down the belt barrier systems, the security guards helped Yuuri through to a wider lane. They made it through security in under five minutes, bypassing a crowd of at least a hundred people.

They got to board first too, which Viktor expected with first class. But he never had actually been the first person on the plane. Even though it meant having to lift Yuuri into a smaller wheelchair and practically carry him into the plane, the smaller chair unable to help him keep his balance as well as the one from the hospital. Yuuri fought to stay awake until take-off, the exhaustion a side effect of his unpredictable seizures.

Viktor almost felt like relaxing too-- planes were familiar to him. Travel was something he enjoyed, especially with Yuuri dozing a few inches away from him. But his heart leapt at any beep or jolt, and instead of feeling Yuuri’s lips and dreaming about kissing them, he focused on checking for more bleeding.  
He kicked himself when Yuuri’s food pump alarm beeped. He hadn’t packed any more of the formula, and he ended up having to clamp the tube with a few borrowed bobby pins. The doctors had said the NG tube would be good for a few days, and after Yuuri’s reaction, he wasn’t about to make Yuuri go to the hospital as soon as they landed in St.Petersburg. Yuuri slept the whole way, unperturbed by Viktor’s mistakes.

“Vikutoru…” Yuuri moaned when Viktor lifted him back into his chair on the jetway, sucking air through his teeth as his arms and legs were finally able to move and stretch after a long four hour flight.

“Yuu-ri,” Viktor breathed back, unable to hold back a smile. Yuuri blinked sleepily at him. 

“I want borscht.” Yuuri yawned. “From Elena’s.”  
Viktor laughed, the simple statement bringing him more joy than he thought possible. “Are you that happy to be home?”

“Yes.” Yuuri answered so enthusiastically Viktor thought he would develop diabetes at the thought that Yuuri, his Yuuri, loved his favorite restaurant so much. “It doesn’t help I have a little Russian in me…” Yuuri mumbled, his arms curling around his middle.

“Yuuri! “ Viktor cooed, pressing his hand to his chest. “So cute!”

Yuuri’s cheeks burned pink and he hid his face. “It’s just...nevermind.” He mumbled.   
Yuuri watched Viktor struggle to pack the convertible, immediately regretting his choice in cars for the moment.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Viktor asked once Yuuri was lifted into the front seat, the chair pushed back to give him more room, and a blanket tucked around Yuuri’s belly.

“It’s going to be hard to find a car seat that matches white leather..” Yuuri mumbled, staring into the smaller back seat.

“You’re going to kill me, lyubov.” Viktor sighed, kissing his husbands cheek, careful to avoid the NG tube taped to it and looped behind the shell of his ear.

“It’s not my fault, I’m not trying,” Yuuri replied quietly, dozing off as soon as they pulled onto the main road again. 

Viktor stopped by Elena’s, getting the borscht to go. He wanted syrniki as well, but he was already pressing his luck with the soup already.

“Give me a suitcase.” Yuuri demanded when he was awoken by being lifted back into his chair when they finally arrived home.

“My love, I don’t think--”

“Let me help.” Yuuri interrupted flatly, and Viktor relented, setting Yuuri’s backpack on his lap. It did make things easier, allowing Viktor to carry everything important in one trip.

Makkachin bounded out the door as soon as Viktor opened it, her butt wiggling happily along with her tail. She crawled up onto Yuuri’s chair without a second thought, licking his face and whining happily.

“Good girl, I missed you my angel--” Viktor cooed, dragging the luggage into the living room before turning back to his husband and his dog in the main hallway.

“Good girl--” Viktor repeated, the reunion a little bitter sweet as Yuuri’s tears broke into a sob. Makkachin licked at his cheeks, her paws pressing onto his shoulders and tail still wagging, even as her whining became more questioning and distressed.

“Is she hurting you?” Viktor asked as Yuuri’s cries became more visceral. 

“...no.” Yuuri hiccuped, his cheeks wet and sticky. “Everything--h--hurts.”

Viktor pushed Makkachin off Yuuri’s lap, if only to pull off the backpack and set it inside.

“I got the borscht.” Viktor hummed, trying not to feel hurt at Makkachin’s obvious focused attention on Yuuri. “I’ll look for the spoon Dr. Lenovich--”

“I’m too tired for that,” Yuuri interrupted yet again. 

“I...Well.. then we’ll just share then.” Viktor knew Yuuri hated it, but maybe if they shared a spoon while he fed Yuuri it would be different. They got settled, and Viktor sat on the couch, spoon feeding Yuuri between taking bites out of the styrofoam container himself.

Later, Viktor lifted Yuuri onto their bed, pulling his own shirt off before walking off to find a pair of pajamas for Yuuri. He stripped Yuuri of his shirt and pants, freezing when Yuuri’s cold fingers and rough cast pressed into the skin of his stomach.

Yuuri kissed him, still tasting of peppermint toothpaste and heavy with the scent of his orange and bergamot face wash. It had taken an hour to get to this point, with priming and changing Yuuri’s food pump and figuring out how to wash his face without getting his cast wet.

Yuuri pulled back, disappointed when Viktor didn’t reciprocate. He wilted back into the bed, kicking Viktor away with his uninjured foot when he approached with pajama bottoms.

“Stop.” Yuuri said flatly. Viktor waited, knowing Yuuri would boil over without his help.

“You promised,” Yuuri continued mere seconds later, true to his new temper. “No coaching at home. No figure skater Viktor at home. Just Viktor.”

Yuuri went quiet, expecting an answer.

“I am Just Viktor,” Viktor answered weakly.

“I don’t want Nurse Viktor.” Yuuri snapped.

“I don’t even get Doctor Viktor?” Viktor smiled, but Yuuri saw right through it.

“You’re acting. Stop it.” Yuuri snapped again, before his lips trembled and eyes filled with tears. “I thought it would be better when we were alone.”

“I’m sorry-- I just wanted to get you comfortable.” Viktor sighed. Yuuri had slept on the plane, but Viktor hadn’t so much a wink of sleep.

Yuuri mumbled something-- but Viktor could only catch ‘feel good’ before Yuuri turned his head away to the other side of the room.


	8. To do list

Viktor crawled onto the bed, reaching out and stroking Yuuri’s hair back from his face tenderly. It took a few minutes, Yuuri staying still, facing the wall. His eyelids fluttered closed. 

“I’m tired of being a burden. I can’t even seduce you anymore,” His voice was soft and low.

“You’re not a burden. But we can hire a home nurse if you want.” Viktor stretched out beside Yuuri, still playing with his hair and using the same volume of voice as his husband.

“I don’t want anyone touching me but you,” Yuuri’s mouth tightened into a firm line, but Viktor laughed. “It’s not funny.”

“I know. I’m… just so happy to hear that.” Viktor hummed. “What are we going to do now that you can’t talk to me through your skating?”

“Stop,” Yuuri choked, his voice so laden with emotion that Viktor’s heart dropped with guilt.

“I know my career is over. I didn’t even get to finish my last competition.” Yuuri’s voice was thick with emotion. “I’m trying to be happy but my head hurts and my arms hurt and I’m horny and my life is over,” The sentence ended in a soft wail.

Viktor wrapped his arms around Yuuri, rubbing his nose against Yuuri’s scent gland in the curve of his neck. “Your life is not over. We can skate as soon as the casts are off. No jumping.” Viktor hummed, earning a shiver of pleasure from Yuuri’s body.

“You’re the most beautiful man in the world, Yuuri. My Yuuri. All mine.” Viktor grazed his teeth against the skin of Yuuri’s neck, getting a sharp gasp in return. “I can’t promise being seduced… when I know you’re in such pain.” Viktor paused, the curl in Yuuri’s toes relaxing into disappointment. “Please, let me play with you?”

“Iwantyouinsideme,” Yuuri breathed sharply, licking his lips and clumsily grasping at Viktor, bumping him with his heavy casts. Viktor pushed himself upward, swinging over and straddling Yuuri, resting on his knees as he ran his fingers along Yuuri’s waistband.  
He winced at the ache of his old knee injury before immediately sweeping it away. He wasn’t dealing with casts on all but one limb-- nor pregnancy or still unpredictable seizures. He could handle it. Yuuri arched his back, doing his best to raise his hips as Viktor pulled his pajama bottoms and boxers down. Viktor fumbled blindly toward the nightstand drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube, leaning over Yuuri just as he pinched Viktor’s ass.

Viktor looked down, Yuuri’s face just between his own pecs, his cheeks and ears flushed a deep pink and his eyes sparkling when Viktor sat back. He arranged them, lifting Yuuri’s hips and pulling his pants off the rest of the way until Yuuri’s legs were on either side of Viktor and he was on display. 

Viktor ran his fingers around Yuuri’s entrance, the gentle touch enough to make Yuuri’s breath ragged. Then Viktor wrapped his hand around Yuuri’s cock-- smaller than his own ‘alpha’ one, yes, but Viktor considered it perfect. 

“Yuuri, do you think you could impregnate someone?” Viktor blurted just as he slid a finger into Yuuri’s entrance. 

“S---shut up,” Yuuri gasped. “Don’t say stupid things,” Yuuri’s words turned into a moan.

“I--I was just thinking… about your cock.” Viktor stammered, tracing the ghost of patterns on Yuuri’s thighs just the way he liked it.

“A---alphas… can’t… get.. Pregnant.” Yuuri managed to bite between pants as Viktor stroked him with two hands. “I can’t do it if it’s not you.” Yuuri whimpered.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” Yuuri grunted, taking Viktor’s face in his feeble grasp and jerking it upward. Yuuri’s gaze was fire-- burning Eros, and Viktor felt dangerously in love all over again.

“Gladly,” Viktor breathed, enjoying the cute pout Yuuri gave him in response. He shut himself up by taking Yuuri’s cock into his mouth, kissing the tip before swallowing it down.  
Yuuri rolled his hips, grinding up into Viktor’s mouth. Viktor felt the heat in his own stomach when Yuuri’s hand went from his jaw to the back of his head, keeping him there. When Viktor breathed through his nose he smelled Yuuri-- stronger than he had in weeks. But Yuuri keened “More,” and Viktor couldn’t deny him. He was still only half-hard, the anxiety of hurting or breaking something, the image of Yuuri asleep in a bed for a week too close and vivid for anything more to happen.

Viktor pulled the box from under the bed, throwing aside the strappy lingerie and Yuuri’s old ugly tie and pulling out the toy he had made for Yuuri. He had made a careful replica of his own cock, paying extra for a knot feature when Yuuri’s heat was estimated to begin during the week Viktor would be on a business trip. Yuuri’s frugal upbringing wouldn’t allow him to cancel the sponsor visit, but his body hadn’t desired anything but Viktor either.

“Okay?” Viktor held it up, grabbing the toy-safe lube.

“Please,” Yuuri moaned, but Viktor still slid it against his entrance, teasing him before he pressed the tip into Yuuri. Viktor worked it slowly into him inch by inch,watching the silicone replica disappear into Yuuri.

“More,” Yuuri gasped and Viktor looked up. He froze, watching the drool trickled from the corner of Yuuri’s mouth-- slow, viscous, and red.

Viktor’s heart stuttered, and Yuuri rolled his hips up, the heels of his feet trying to find purchase on the sheets.

“More!” Yuuri growled, more forceful and angry before he whimpered.

“Y---you bit your tongue…” Viktor breathed but Yuuri didn’t hear him-- or at least, he chose to ignore him. Viktor suddenly remembered Yuuri’s earlier words and squeezed his eyes shut, moving to take Yuuri into his mouth again as he pushed and pulled the toy into and out of Yuuri.

Yuuri came, and Viktor felt a guilty wave of relief, swallowing so the taste of Yuuri coated his throat. It wasn’t his favorite thing to do-- but he deserved it for betraying Yuuri-- for treating him like a chore finally crossed off his to do list.

“I love you,” Yuuri purred.


	9. Cast away

Despite Yuuri’s struggle with sleep since the accident, sleep had no trouble finding Yuuri after Viktor cleaned him up. Viktor fell asleep quickly as well, lulled by the comfort of his own bed with his mate and Makkachin.

Until, in the dark of the night, Viktor was punched in the gut. Yuuri’s casted arm jolted him awake, the weight of Yuuri on top of him another surprise as he scrambled to the edge of the bed.

Makkachin whined as Yuuri wretched, his stomach heaving and pressed against Viktor’s side as Yuuri tried to hold himself up.

“Solnyshko? Viktor felt his voice crack- dry from sleep, his heart aching as Yuuri moaned in embarassment, hiding his face in his hands. Viktor felt hot tears drop onto his hands as he sat up and cupped Yuuri’s face, rubbing soothing circles on his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Yuuri whimpered, tears spilling afresh down his face.

“It’s alright. Do you feel better?” Viktor frowned, checking Yuuri’s NG tube.

“A little. No. I need to clean up.”

“I’ll clean it up. Let’s go brush your teeth? Maybe I should flush your tube..” Viktor shifted, scooping Yuuri up into his arms.

“No! I mean… don’t. I can clean it up.” Yuuri sniffled and grimaced. Viktor looked at him-- his four useable fingers and awkwardly held arms. But this was Yuuri, who had won a gold on a sprained ankle out of sheer stuborrnness. Yuuri, who knew better than to invoke ‘it’s not your job’ since their fight a week after their wedding and Yuuri had the flu and no idea how seriously Viktor took ‘in sickness and in health’.

“Okay.. but first let’s get you feeling better.” Viktor carried Yuuri to the bathroom under the watchful eye of Makkachin, brushing Yuuri’s teeth for him, and using some syringes from the hospital to flush the NG tube. He held Yuuri’s weight against him, his casted foot on top of Viktor’s as he leaned over the sink and used the syringe to wash out his nostrils and brush his teeth a second time.

“Let me go clean--” Yuuri sighed, already looking exhausted. Viktor pulled out the cash covers he bought for use in the shower, flipping the stifling plastic and rubber cuff until Yuuri’s hands were covered in an oversized plastic bag.

“I know, I know. But you can’t walk.” Viktor lifted Yuuri easily carrying him like a bride instead of a medical hold. He secretly liked doing it-- how Yuuri folded into his arms and always rested his head on Viktor’s shoulder. But Yuuri didn’t enjoy his limited freedom. Viktor reluctantly left Yuuri with cleaning supplies, along with the biggest bowl in the house, going to hunt down all the pillows in the house to prop Yuuri up in bed.

It was past five when Viktor finally got everything put away and Yuuri back in bed, laying him back on a throne of pillows that Viktor noticed it. The fond look on Yuuri’s eyes fading to blankness, his eyes unfocused as he sunk into an absence seizure.

“Why can’t you catch a break?” Viktor’s voice betrayed him, shaking more than he wanted it to. 

\---

The morning sickness didn’t improve, but Viktor finally fell into a routine. Everything was a production-- three plastic covers wrestled over casts and a careful dance into a shower stall only to discover that Viktor’s shampoo set off Yuuri’s morning sickness one day after years of use. 

Visits back to the hospital and Yuuri was put on a high-calorie formula and Viktor wished for stock in uber eats when they discovered that Mcdonalds shakes stayed in Yuuri longer than any other food. Carrying Yuuri became second nature in the apartment-- the wheelchair reserved for walks outside and visits to the rink.

As soon as it became normal, it was time for things to change again.

The morning of the appointment for Yuuri’s cast removal he was practically vibrating. They had gone through 3 cans of anti-itch spray, and Viktor was eager to be rid of the silver-sharpie dick Chris had drawn on Yuuri’s knee. Yuuri bit his nails on the drive to the hospital, the same one where he had to attend nutrition appointments-- ones that hopefully would change once he gained full use of his hands again.

The saw they used to cut the cast terrified Viktor, his gaze fierce as he dared the tech to even so much as scratch his mate.

They took the arm casts off, the smile on Yuuri’s face precious as he flexed his fingers and moved his arms up and down. He scratched at his skin as they cut him out of his leg cast despite the after-care instructions they had just recited to him. 

The tech helped Yuuri to his feet, a surge of protectiveness rising in Viktor’s stomach as Yuuri swayed on his feet, his hand immediately pressing to his belly. Yuuri looked smaller-- and bigger at the same time, finally standing up, his tshirt riding up over the small bump of his belly. 

“Wait--” Viktor snagged the small backpack that held Yuuri’s feeding pump off the back of his wheelchair, holding it as Yuuri walked the length of the room and back. Yuuri turned, smiling contagiously as Viktor slipped it over Yuuri’s back and onto his arms.

“Slow down, solnyshko,” Viktor laughed, taking Yuuri’s hand to kiss his knuckles. Yuuri drew back, his cheeks coloring pink.

“Don’t breath in, my skin reeks.” Yuuri mumbled, shifting from foot to foot.

“Sounds like a good time to go by that store with all the bath bombs and jelly soaps.” Viktor found himself humming, lacing his hand with Yuuri’s regardless.

“Let me make sure it’s safe to take a bath first.” Yuuri pulled out his phone, smiling at the simple of action of walking again. 

=

Although the bruises had faded and bones had healed, the ghost of the accident did not leave. Viktor’s simple hapiness lasted two days-- lulling them into a false sense of security.

Makkachin had barked-- once, but the first time she had since Yuuri had moved in with them. Viktor poked his head out of the bedroom and into the kitchen just in time to see Yuuri sway on his feet, the knife in his hand dropping to the countertop with a clatter.

Viktor swore, hitting his knee as he sprinted through the kitchen and caught Yuuri under his arms before he fell to the floor. Viktor’s heart beat wildly in his chest as he lowered Yuuri onto the floor, laying him on his side as he seized. Viktor watched the clock, waiting until Yuuri’s eyelids fluttered open before he showered Makkachin with kisses, and a sob bubbled up from his chest.

“Good girl.. Best girl, my girl. Saving Daddy, yes. Good girl.” Viktor cooed, waiting until Yuuri gradually grew more lucid. He sat up, scooting across the kitchen floor and sleepily resting his head on Viktor’s chest. Viktor’s knee radiated pain, but he ignored it in favor of letting Yuuri crawl onto his lap, his weight a welcome distraction. 

Yuuri didn’t miss anything, even in the post-seizure haze. Viktor had thought he hid it well, resting on the couch until Yuuri came into the living room with a bag of ice and the knee brace Viktor kept in the hallway closet. Viktor let Yuuri hold the ice to his knee-- thinking about what had made Yuuri clue into it. Had he limped? Or was this one of his Yuuri-isms, where Yuuri knew something about Viktor that he himself had forgotten. Like what competition he was at and song he was skating to when a world event happened, or the exact part of his routine he had injured himself during his second year in Seniors. 

Viktor tensed, scared that he’d get told off for aggravating his own injury-- even though he’d do worse if it meant protecting Yuuri. But instead Yuuri crawled onto his lap again, stretching out and sliding his bare feet down Viktor’s calves. He rolled onto his side, and Viktor found himself cupping Yuuri’s belly in his hands. It was undeniable now, the roundness beyond off-season chub to the unmistakeable swell of baby. Yuuri had started wearing Viktor’s shirts exclusively, though he soon would have to result to maternity wear exclusively.   
Viktor looked questioningly down at Yuuri, but he only stretched, kissing him on the crease between his eyebrows. 

“Can I help you?” Viktor laughed as Yuuri settled down on his chest, laying on top of him. He laughed more as Yuuri nuzzled the side of his neck. “Ah, I see.” He grinned, the pain his knee momentarily forgotten. “You want me to scent you. You could just ask.” Viktor raised his wrists to Yuuri’s neck, enjoying the boneless pleasure of Yuuri melted against him.

“That’s embarrassing.” Yuuri mumbled,clearly pleased and satisfied with Viktor’s guess,

.It was the answer Viktor expected-- they rarely scented-- he could count the times since their mating on one hand. Yuuri was private and shy despite his exhibitionist qualities after a few drinks. Viktor didn’t mind-- he preferred showing others that Yuuri was his and he was Yuuri’s in a way that even betas could tune into. 

“It’s just me and makkachin.” Viktor hummed, but he didn’t argue.


	10. Reveal

Viktor stirred, something about the early hours of the morning pulling him out from sleep. He hadn’t returned to skating since Yuuri’s accident, even though he was now off his feeding tube and cast-free.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asked groggily, turning to see his husband sitting up in a nest of pillows, his face lit up by the blue light of his phone. “Are you okay?”

Yuuri jolted, dropping the phone onto his chest. “S-sorry! Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Viktor frowned. Yuuri had always been a night owl, and Viktor could sleep standing up on a fully-lit moving train. “Why are you up?”

Yuuri worried his bottom lip, his hand going to the swell of his belly. “The baby… is moving a lot.”

Viktor brightened, pushing himself up and resting a hand next to Yuuri’s.

“I don’t think it’s big enough yet,” Yuuri said in a hush, but Viktor still waited.

“I know it’s hard to tell in there, but its nighttime and you need to let papa sleep.” Viktor cooed to Yuuri’s stomach. Yuuri giggled softly as Viktor pressed a kiss to his stomach. Their fingers intertwined over Yuuri’s stomach, and Viktor rubbed his face with his other hand.

“.Spi mladyenets, moi prekrasný, bayushki bayu,” Viktor sang, his voice low and scratchy from the few hours of sleep he did get.”Tikho smotrit myesyats yasný  
f kolýbyel tvayu.”  
Viktor sang the rest of the lullabye, rubbing soothing circles on Yuuri’s hand when he heard the sniffles start.

“How did you know it was sad?” Viktor smiled, laughing at himself when Yuuri frowned angrily, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“I didn’t, I just…. I love you.” Yuuri growled before his throat was too tight from emotion. Viktor laid back on the bed, letting Yuuri bury his face in his chest, his belly pressed between them.

~

“Well, you’re in the 100th percentile for belly size,” The nurse sat back, the measuring tape in his hands. Yuuri looked up at Viktor, his Russian nowhere near good enough for doctors visits.

“Big baby.” The nurse repeated. “Out of a hundred people, ninety-nine have smaller bellies.” 

“Is that bad? Is the baby okay?” Yuuri fretted.

The nurse shrugged. “It may be because you’re Chinese--”

“Japanese.” Viktor interrupted sharply. It was a fair enough assumption, seeing as one of Russia’s largest Chinese immigrant communities was close by, but Viktor intimately remembered a Drunk Yuuri rant about how while people think all Asians look the same.

“Is the baby okay?” Yuuri frowned.

“Its nothing to worry about now. It may make natural birth harder, or it could be how your body carries the placenta and amniotic sac.”

Yuuri looked back at Viktor helplessly. Viktor smoothed his hand agained the small of Yuuri’s back. “The baby is okay. It’s just how your body is carrying.” He repeated in English.

“Anyway, the ultrasound tech will be here soon. Do you want to know the gender or will you be waiting until birth.”

“I want to know.” Yuuri said.

“We can wait,” Viktor said at the same time.

Yuuri tensed, turning back to his husband. “What do you mean we can wait?”

“Does the gender really matter?” Viktor suddenly felt uncomfortable, but the nurse seemed to zone out when they spoke in english. “It’s not like I grew up being very manly or boyish. Just because it’s a girl doesn’t mean we should do everything in pink.. Or keep a boy from pink and purple.” Viktor swallowed thickly.

“Well, yeah..” Yuuri rubbed his hand on his stomach. “But… Viktor…” His expression turned from confusion to dark determination. “You said you didn’t name Makkachin until you had her for three weeks. If we don’t have a name on the birth certificate and the papers filed with the government, then we can’t register her in Japan and visit my parents right away--”

Yuuri spoke a mile a minute, unfazed by his husband breaking out into laughter. Of course Yuuri understood. Of course Yuuri would be anxious over Viktor’s occasional inability to decide. That was what Yuuri did.

“Yuuri. Solynshko. Lyubov.” Viktor repeated, wiping tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry… you are right. It will be easier if we decided on a name beforehand.”

“So… do you want to know?” The nurse cleared his throat.

~

Yuuri’s toes curled as the gel was squeezed onto his stomach, his fingers tightening around Viktor’s hand.

“Ready?” The technician pressed the wand to Yuuri’s stomach, and he gasped softly.

“What?” Yuuri asked, voice soft. Viktor looked up and watched Yuuri’s eyelashes flutter.

“He’s ready. Can it be quick?” Viktor asked, heart dropping at the odd look from the tech. 

But Viktor knew. He had timed every seizure, written down each time and place and what Yuuri had eaten before they happened.

There was no easy pattern-- other than the absence seizures came first, making Yuuri spacy. They were the only warning before the twenty-second halo Yuuri got before he lost control. 

“Sorry--it’s just...he might have a seizure soon.” Viktor spoke in rushed Russian, forcing a polite smile.   
The technician got to work, scanning Yuuri’s belly before she paused, pressing a button to take a snapshot.

“Here is the head. And there’s the leg. Congratulations, it’s a girl.”

“She’s beautiful,” Viktor gasped, squeezing Yuuri’s hands as a few tears slipped down Yuuri’s cheeks.

“She looks like a gameboy scan of a potato,” Yuuri laughed, fidgeting before grabbing Viktor and pulling him into a tight bear-hug.

“Vitya,” Yuuri whimpered into Viktor’s shoulder, and Viktor kissed the crown of Yuuri’s head.

~  
They made it to the subway station before Yuuri stumbled, dragging his feet, his grip on Viktor’s hand loose and the ultrasound print dropping from his other hand as he swayed.

“Oh, fuck.” Viktor breathed, forgetting the print as he slipped his arms around Yuuri. He tried to say something, but it came out slurred, his eyelids fluttering. 

“Fuck fuck fuck.” Viktor looked around for somewhere to stop that wasn’t the middle of a corridor or ticket turnstile. There was no such thing as an empty bench in St. Petersberg.

His eyes lit upon a nursing room-- part of the family bathroom. He’d be intruding, especially as an alpha, and it was a little early for Yuuri-- but at least it was obvious that he was heavily pregnant.

Viktor nearly knocked the door off of the room, a young mother shrieking at the changing table in a corner opposite of the couch.

“Should I call an ambulance?” She asked after Viktor laid Yuuri on the couch, later into the seizure than he wanted to. Yuuri jerked, his breathing uneven and lips blue.

“N---no. He’s epilectic.Brain injury. He’ll be okay.” Viktor sunk onto the floor next to the couch. It looked bad. He wouldn’t put it past her to call the police anyway. But she didn’t, cleaning up her baby and supplies, watching carefully as she bounced the child in her arms.

“I’m here,” Viktor breathed when Yuuri’s breath evened out and the jerking stopped. “I’m--” Viktor turned and grabbed a trash can just as his mate reared up and retched.

Yuuri whimpered, sinking back onto the couch. Viktor set the can down, pulling and pushing Yuuri into the recovery position, even if it was awkward.

“Viktor… where’s… the picture..” Yuuri whispered as Viktor slung the backpack off of his back and pressed a cold water bottle to the back of his neck.

“It doesn’t--- you dropped it. I can go get it on the way home.” Viktor sighed, fishing for the plastic baggie with the toothbrush and toothpaste he had started carrying when Yuuri’s morning sickness was at its worst.

“It smells awful,” Yuuri moaned, and Viktor scooted the trash can further away.

“No. Flowers.” Yuuri grunted, pressing his hands to his face. Viktor frowned, looking around just as the mother pulled an oil diffuser from the wall outlet by the changing table.

“Thank you,” Viktor bowed his head, and the woman smiled on her way out the door.

They waited until Yuuri felt marginally better. Luckily, the ultrasound print remained where it had been dropped, unhurt but for a boot print in the corner. Yuuri held it with both hands, staring at it as Viktor guided him toward the ticket gate. He fell immediately asleep on the train, head lolling against Viktor’s shoulder.  
He called a taxi before their stop came, and he scooped Yuuri into his arms. It was considerably harder than their wedding day-- now that Yuuri had a larger-than-most belly that kept him from being as flexible and foldable as he had been in his skating prime. But Yuuri didn’t wake up, instead snuggling into Viktor. He didn’t even wake up when Viktor juggled him and opened the door to their apartment.

“Shh, Makkachin. Be nice to papa and your little sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments. I'm bad at replying, but I treasure each one a lot. I often go back and re-read comments. <3 Thank you thank you thank you <3
> 
> Viktor sang a russian lullabye I got from this website
> 
> https://www.mamalisa.com/?t=es&p=1044


	11. Nesting

Viktor tucked Yuuri into bed, making sure he was cradled in a nest of pillows and surrounded by blankets. It suddenly felt inadequate-- two blankets for each of them, since they discovered that Yuuri had a tendency to cocoon himself during the night.

Viktor needed more.

Yuuri seemed sound asleep, and Viktor knew he would be hungry by the time he recovered from the seizure.

“Watch them, okay?” Viktor whispered to Makkachin, who obediently curled up at the foot of the bed. “I’ll be back soon.”

Viktor stepped out, jogging to the nearest home goods market. He’d pick up dinner on the way home. It felt good to be out-- to move, feel his muscles burn and the air rush into his lungs. He made it to the store, pulling and smoothing his hands over samples in the blanket section. His eyes drifted to the soft pinks and purples, the unicorn embroidered blankets made for princess bedrooms. It would clash with the apartment’s decor, sure, but it was pink and purple and sparkly.

All things Viktor liked, especially when he imagined a mini-Yuuri burritoed in a blanket.

Two years ago, after Yuuri had announced his move to Russia, the internet had gone crazy. Viktor had spent the torturous week during nationals following the craze. He had found a website called archive of our own, and read embarrassingly too many stories about Viktor and Yuuri in the ice skating tag. They were fun-- some incredibly filthy, but always wrong. They always had Viktor as the seducer, when Viktor knew he was the one who had been seduced.

It had also been the first time Viktor had seen fanart of them-- it was more offputting, when the art moved away from copies of their skate costumes and redraws of paparazzi photos. Viktor had never saved any of the family pictures-- they always had a child with blue eyes and silver hair, or blue and black. Sometimes the fictional children had black and silver striped hair, and it had been too much at a time where Viktor hadn’t even shared a rut with Yuuri yet.

He knew, logically, that Yuuri’s genes would dominate. But in his heart, he wanted the baby to look like Yuuri too.

Viktor had been a beautiful child-- many people had told him that. But he hadn’t been happy. It wasn’t that his child looking like him would be sad-- not at all.

It was Viktor was a little scared that the parts of him he got from his father would re-emerge in the genetic mix of his child. The curly hair,blue eyes, easily tanned skin. The anger.

The baby in Viktor’s mind had Yuuri’s big brown eyes and chestnut brown hair as unruly as her father’s. Yuuri’s wide-mouth smile and soft cheeks.

A store clerk knocked Viktor out of his thoughs, asking if he needed any help. He didn’t-- a fuzzy blue and silver-speckled blanket was perfect. He picked that, and the princess blanket, pulling his credit card from the back of his phone case.

He frowned, clicking the home button, watching as the 1% by the batter in the corner flicked to 0, and the screen went black. He had forgotten to plug it in the night before, and they had been too preoccupied with the ultrasound appointment to do anything about it since.

Viktor wandered the store, picking up a frame for the ultrasound print before going to the register. He couldn’t ask what Yuuri was in the mood for, but lately he had been craving meat. He also knew from Yuuri’s past pre-heat binges that he could do no wrong with burgers, so he stopped by a restaurant on his way home, laden down with two queen sized blankets and a pastel photo frame. His child would get nothing but kobe-beef, even if it meant waiting for half an hour for it.

When Viktor unlocked the front door, the tv was on, but no one was on the couch. Makkachin licked Yuuri’s face,pawing at his lap and leaving red marks on his bare legs. Viktor’s stomach dropped at the raw sobs that ripped at Yuuri’s chest, his mate sitting on the floor in one of Viktor’s shirts, his face red and puffy, eyes scrunched up and his breath coming in panicked wheezes.

“Sonyshko?” Viktor dropped his bags, pulling Yuuri’s white-knuckled grip off of his phone. The call screen still had ‘Vitya’ on it as he dropped it to the floor. “Are you--what?”  
Yuuri jumped at him, his hands twisting into his shirt and pulling until their chests were flush. Viktor could feel the stattaco of Yuuri’s heart. He knew this- a panic attack-- but not why. Yuuri shook, struggling the breath, words trapped in his chest and tightening his throat. Makkachin whined, licking at Viktor’s hand on his back as Yuuri crawled into his lap.

The TV screen played horrors, the subway stop four blocks from their home torn apart and ablaze with fire. Viktor had noticed a black cloud, but hadn’t thought of much more than getting back to Yuuri.

Oh.

Viktor cradled Yuuri, cupping the back of his head in his hands. “Shh. I’m here. I’m fine. It’s okay.” He repeated himself, over and over, waiting until Yuuri calmed, resting his head on his shoulder after his breath returned to him.   
Viktor kissed the mark on Yuuri’s neck, rubbing a thumb against the gland on Yuuri’s left wrist.

“I’m so sorry. I went to get dinner and blankets. I didn’t realize my battery was almost gone. I should have left a note.” Viktor rubbed soothing lines up and down Yuuri’s back. He carried him when he refused to let go, Yuuri’s legs tightening around his waist as Viktor went to plug in his phone. 

Seventy missed calls popped up when the screen came back to life. One from Yakov, the rest from Yuuri. Had he been gone that long?

“She’s kicking you,” Yuuri whispered, his voice rough and tired. Viktor looked down to the swell of Yuuri’s belly between them. He would have lost it at Yuuri in just his shirt, if that had been all he had seen. Instead of enjoying Yuuri, he felt stupid. A terrible husband.

Viktor laughed, just once.

“I deserve it. Smart girl.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re okay.” Yuuri was rarely clingy, but now Yuuri couldn’t bare any space between them. He kissed at Viktor’s neck, biting gently at his mark. Viktor indulged him, rubbing his wrists over the curve of Yuuri’s neck after sinking down into the couch. Yuuri’s hands snaked up his shirt, pushing it up with cold fingers. Viktor pulled it off the rest of the way, watching Yuuri with bright eyes. But he only rested a sticky cheek against Viktor’s heart, his breath ghosting against his bare skin. 

Viktor expected to feel hot tears, a hiccup, but instead Yuuri giggled.

“Hm?” Viktor could barely focus-- not with Yuuri pressed against him, his toes playing at his calves, his breath on his skin.

“Makka.” Yuuri’s voice was soft. He made sure not to actually call her, the paper takeout bag shredded to pieces, her pink tongue still working on cleaning out the paper box that had once held one of the burgers. The other one was already empty and clean, popped perfectly open.

“Makkachin Waffleovna Nikiforova!” Viktor sat up, Yuuri dissolving into a giggling fit. “That was for Yuuri!”

Makkachin looked up, wagging her tail at the name of her second-favorite human. She padded over in concern when Yuuri’s giggles were disrupted by hiccups.

“Yuuri?” Viktor smoothed his hair back, scared at the soft jerking movements Yuuri’s body made.

But instead of seizing, Yuuri shifted, rubbing his stomach and sitting on Viktor’s lap instead of laying across him.

“It’s okay. I ate when you were gone. But we need to get more pickles.”

Viktor blinked. He had just bought a new jar-- bigger than a liter and probably a few kilos worth. Was that many pickles even healthy?

“And digestive biscuits.” Yuuri continued, the hiccups fading. Makkachin hopped to her spot on the couch. Viktor had bought a new one when Yuuri had moved in. Now it barely fit the three of them, nevertheless their child.

“We need to get a house.” Viktor stated.

“Okay, I’ll put that on the grocery list.” Yuuri smiled, settling back to snuggle against his husband.


	12. Karma

Viktor got a week’s notice of Phichit’s flight, and two weeks to prepare himself for the baby shower that said skater was flying internationally to conduct. Viktor wasn’t sure he really wanted a shower-- Russian superstitions aside, Yuuri spent most of the day asleep. Viktor was more than willing to clean, but he was not willing to deal with Yuuri watching him clean.

The day before, Viktor had finished washing the dishes, watching the bedroom door. Once the water stopped running, he heard the sniffles. Fearing the worst, he had run into the bathroom, only to find his husband crying over having to wear pants for his monthly checkup. When Yuuri wasn’t burrito’d in the new blankets on their bed he was on his feet and half a breath away from getting upset. He nested, but sometimes nesting included boxing up all of Viktor’s hair products and yelling at Viktor about how much they cost. Luckily, Viktor was able to save them by convincing Yuuri they were baby safe, all being tear and paraben free. Sure, he had to sacrifice some of it, but it was worth it just to stop Yuuri from gluing baby locks onto the lids. 

“We have an hour until we need to leave for the airport. You can lay down for a bit.” Viktor rubbed the small of Yuuri’s back, taking the knife from his hand as  
Yuuri’s eyelids grew heavy again. “Carrot sticks can wait.” 

“But I haven’t done anything to help.” Yuuri blinked sleepily, leaning back into his husband.

“You shouldn’t help at your own party.” Viktor scolded. “Rest. You’re busy enough making a whole human.”

“The due date is in two weeks, I’m not really doing a lot of making anymore,” Yuuri protested. He rubbed at his eyes, swaying on his feet before catching himself. Nevertheless, Viktor stepped forward, holding Yuuri up under his arms.

“Yuuri? Do you feel anything coming on?”

“My head hurts,” Yuuri murmured, pushing his weight forward so he could lean over the kitchen sink.

“Are you nauseous?” Viktor moved to try to feel at Yuuri’s forehead, but the awkward position and a sudden jerk of Yuuri’s head thwarted it. Yuuri smacked his head against the faucet with a painful metallic thunk. 

“Ow.” Viktor said for Yuuri, before awkwardly sweeping him up into his arms and carrying him to the couch. Yuuri obediently held a thermometer in his mouth. After it beeped and announced a normal temperature, Viktor sat on the couch with Yuuri’s head in his lap, playing with his hair and wishing the headache away.  
An hour later, they were still no the couch when the reminder alarm buzzed on Viktor’s phone-- a feature Yuuri had started programming into his calendar for him.

“It’s time to leave… but if you’re not feeling well I can call and hire a car for Phichit.” Viktor said softly. Yuuri opened his eyes the rest of the way, unwilling to move. 

“No, I want to be there.” Yuuri’s voice was small and pitiful sounding, but Viktor knew better than to fight. Yuuri got up and pulled on his coat, resting one hand on top of his stomach. He pinched the bridge of his nose when he sat in the front seat of the car and Viktor buckled him in. 

“Are you sure?” Viktor paused before putting the key in the ignition. Yuuri was pale and sickly looking, miserable at best.

“I’m just waiting for it to be over. “ Yuuri grunted, tilting his head back and resting it against the seat.

“What over?”

“The seizure. Or the need to puke. I don’t know.”

“We can go to the clinic--”

“Drive to the airport, Viktor.” Yuuri snapped, closing his eyes.

It wasn’t a terribly long drive to the airport-- it was mainly traffic. Viktor felt fidgety, each red light perpetuating Yuuri’s torture. Three blocks away from home Yuuri opened the window, resting his cheek on it in case he got sick.  
Viktor checked on him every chance he got, glancing over at Yuuri with every suspicious noise.

“Viktor, I’m okay,” Yuuri whined, his cheeks flushing. “I--- STOP!”  
His tired eyes rounded into horror, before the image of Yuuri shook and distorted. He was distantly aware of the car that was running the red light, the one that plowed into the car next to them and pushed it into theirs. The windshield shattered into a spiderweb, obscuring whatever was happening in front of them as Viktor over corrected and they spun, jerking to a stop facing the wrong direction against a light pole. Viktor distantly heard the crunch of metal-- the only thought in his head was-- turn into it--keep it away from Yuuri. But the noise and screech of tires and crash of metal was a distant roar. Gasoline stung his nostrils, and something wet dripped on Viktor’s forehead. 

It didn’t matter.

“Yuuri?” Viktor forced himself to focus, his neck off-kilter. His stomach dropped-- the passenger side of the car was relatively undamaged-- aside from the airbags deploying, the car and window was intact. But Yuuri gasped for air, his whole body seizing. 

“Oh god, Yuuri.” Viktor sobbed. He moved to reach for his husband, but his reach was too short-- something pinning him into his own side of the car.

“Yuuri, I’m so sorry-- Yuuri, listen-- don’t get sick, please-- not right now.” Viktor begged, trying to lever himself up off his seat. Something ground in his hip, something that should be painful, but pain didn’t register. Seconds felt like hours, and Viktor watched Yuuri until a paramedic in a dark uniform pulled open Yuuri’s door.

“Be careful! He’s nine months pregnant and he’s having a seizure--” Viktor didn’t know just how loud he was-- just that his voice was rough as the paramedic retreated, before cutting Yuuri out of his seatbelt.

“Wait-- I need to go with him--” Viktor cried out when they pulled Yuuri out of his seat and onto the sidewalk outside. It was lasting too long-- had it been 5 minutes? Ten? One?”

“We’re working on it, sir,” Another paramedic looked up from the car-- Viktor could only see the top of Yuuri's belly, and then only for a moment before they rolled him onto his side.

Viktor jolted at the metallic screeching from his right-- only then realizing he was pinned into his car by crushed metal. A glance to the rear view mirror revealed a fresh bruise forming on his forehead-- but none of it really registered. His hip was wedged solidly in a tangle of metal, plastic and leather upholstery, but Viktor just felt the rush of blood in his ears louder than the saw inches away from him. Dislocating his knee at the Trophee de France hurt more than this. It was beyond strange as they pulled off the car door, folding a foam collar around his neck.

“Yuuri? My husband-- you need to help him-- he’s pregnant.” Viktor’s vision swam. He was in his home country, but the words of the paramedics were distant. They spoke, but the warning didn’t reach his ears-- the rush of blood and pain flooded his brain and pushed out all other senses.   
He was free. And it was terrible.  
~

“I can’t get an IV into him until he stops fighting, and we can’t just inject him with a sedative without affecting the baby’s heartbeat.” The doctor snapped. It was already hard enough-- a multi-vehicle accident, a surge of patients-- and a pregnant omega that had been transferred with altered mental state and with limited Russian. He had been relatively unharmed, except for whiplash and a bitten tongue, which had since swollen and made the case even harder. The restraints the hospital had on hand weren’t meant for obstetrics patients, and it had been enough of a fight to get the omega’s arms restrained and tied to the bed. 

“Biktoru!” The omega continuously growled-- they had tied a mask to his face, just to stop him from spitting more blood as he pulled and kicked at his restraints.

“Low heart rate is just as dangerous as high blood pressure!” The second doctor hissed. “He looks nearly full term, we should just get a C-section so we can administer--”

“A c-section is for the safety of the mother and the child, not just to administer medication--”

“He presented in status epileticus-- if we wait for another seizure they’re both at risk.”

“We don’t need to book a cesarean. He's already in labor” The only nurse in the room that the omega would let near him said, stepping back from the fetal monitor display.

A third trauma nurse jogged into the room. “We got the ID. He’s a patient here. 37 weeks, previous head trauma. His next of kin is Viktor Nikiforov.”

~  
“Yakov… I love you, but I didn’t think I was going to see you today.” Viktor mumbled, his vision focusing on the gaunt old man. The pain was gone-- quite pleasantly dulled. His entire right leg, toe to hip was splinted and wrapped in gauze. He had just passed a neurological test with flying colors. He made the doctor chuckle when the relayed the exact days until his daughter was due. Morphine was great.

“I’m aware, Vitya.” Yakov grunted. He looked old. Why did he look so tired? “Celestino called me after the police notified me you were here. You were going to the airport, da?”

“Da,” Viktor squinted. He didn’t remember how he got here. The last thing he remembered was laying down with Yuuri….

Yuuri.

“Where’s my Yuuri?” Viktor lifted his hand-- thankfully, his ring was still on his hand. They hadn’t had to take it off to account for swelling, like they had for Yuuri months ago. He kissed it, pressing the warm metal against his lips.

“We were waiting for you to tell us. “ Yakov’s jaw tightened. “Celestino called me after Phichit couldn’t reach either of you.”

“Yuuri always has his phone… mine’s at home, probably.” Viktor frowned, his brow creasing. “He’s not answering?”

“Was he with you in the car, Vitya?” Yakov’s voice was even and short. But strangely gentle.

“Car?” The floaty feeling was feeling less wonderful and more annoying.

“You were in a three car accident, Vitya. That’s why you’re here. Your hip dislocated, your femur broke. Did they not tell you?”

Viktor ignored Yakov-- as he always did-- trying to bring back the last three hours of his life. He remembered carrying Yuuri.. Taking a knife from him and rubbing his back.

Then the single image flashed in his mind-- Yuuri’s face, twisted in horror the split second before everything went grey at the edges.

“Yuuri was in the car,” Viktor said hollowly, his morphine-induced easy smile falling away.


	13. Miracles

“Look, his husband is up on floor three, can’t you just tell us if he’s here or not?” Phichit waved Viktor’s driver license in the emergency room staff’s face. “Please.”

“I can’t divulge patient information,” The nurse repeated again. Georgi fiddled with Viktor’s keys. Yuuri’s phone had been handed over along with the keys-- the car most likely totaled. Phichit had co-opted Viktor’s wallet.

“Just type in Nikiforov-Katsuki. Please.” Phichit pulled a ruble note and slid it across the table. 

“Phichit--”

“Shut up. You know Viktor would do it too.” Phichit hissed.

“His chart says he was just moved to room 503.”

“Thanks!” Phichit barely gave himself time to reply before he sprinted toward the elevator bank. He hit the button for the third floor.

“But he’s on the fifth--”

“You saw how Viktor was. We’re going to get him first.” Phichit shrugged, holding himself tall as he pulled an empty wheelchair away from the room it was parked in front of.

“We found him!” Phichit cheered-- and he was right. Viktor immediately pushed himself to the edge of the bed, using his good leg as leverage.

“I don’t think this a good idea--” Georgi protested-- Yakov was out dealing with press. Thankfully, it was only Viktor’s team mates and Phichit in the room after hours too long without any information.

“Baby Yuri, help me with his IV!” Phichit commanded. Somehow, Yuri didn’t protest, untangling the IV stand and rolling it around the bed. 

They pushed Viktor to the elevator, careful not to jostle his awkwardly splinted leg. It was not as nice as the bed-- but it didn’t matter. Viktor had chewed his nails and cuticles until they bled, and he was about five minutes from pulling a bald spot on his head. 

“Excuse me-- no visitors!” A nurse yelped at their caravan, but Viktor didn’t listen. He pushed the wheels of his wheelchair when Phichit hesitated, awkwardly coasting into Yuuri’s room.

He felt instantly sick. 

Yuuri was fast asleep-- his face bruised and swollen, tubes snaking into his neck and mechanically pushing air into his lungs. His wrists were still strapped to the bed, but loose enough that they rested, posed, on his stomach.

His stomach looked like his size during his first trimester, before he got constant comments about big Russian babies. Too small, and absolutely wrong.

“He’s sedated, he’s not ready for visitors--” The nurse came into the room.

“Where’s my daughter?” Viktor’s voice rose before breaking. “Why is he sedated? What happened to him? Why is he tied up?”

The nurse’s eyes widened and she straightened up. “Ah, he delivered an hour ago. Your daughter is in the nursery.”

Viktor’s hands shook as he pulled himself onto his good leg, leaning on Yuuri’s bed. “What happened to him?” Viktor growled. He pulled at the restraints, the terror turning to anger at the bruises around Yuuri’s wrists.

“He was sedated for his safety-- he kept fighting-- we couldn’t administer medication.”

“Wake him up. Take it off. Now.” Viktor growled. He pushed Yuuri’s hair back-- outside of his split lip and bruised chin, he seemed okay. None of his arms or legs were in a cast. He knew by now that intubation was common during sedation-- but something was wrong. Yuuri didn’t fight. He hated conflict. 

“I can get a doctor, but I can’t change his medication without an order.” The nurse stuttered.

“You can go get his baby.” Phichit spoke up. He stayed at the doorway, wringing Viktor’s wallet in his hands. The nurse fled from the room. Yuri awkwardly held onto Viktors IV pole, watching as his mentor propped himself against a hospital bed and stroked Yuuri’s hair and murmured a string of comforting words. 

“He wasn’t supposed to be alone,” Viktor spoke first, the rest of the group silent. “I was going to be there for him. “ Viktor ignored the hot tears spilling over his cheeks. 

“It’s not like you had a choice.” Yuri mumbled. Viktor ignored him.

“I’m not moving.” Viktor bit at the next doctor-or-whatever who came in. “He’s not going to fight. Not when I’m here.” 

“I brought… your daughter.” The nurse from before returned, rolling a plastic basinette into the room. Viktor turned, inadvertently putting pressure on his broken leg. He grimaced, before fresh tears flooded his eyes.   
She was already swaddled in a white blanket, a pink knit cap pulled over her ears. The nurse pulled it off, her whisp of dark hair already dry. 

“Sit.” Yuri pushed the chair toward Viktor, and he sunk into it, just to relieve the pressure on his leg.

“Akari…” Viktor breathed, holding out his arms for the nurse. She wriggled in his arms, a comforting buy strange weight. “Hello,” He cooed when she opened her eyes for a moment-- she had Yuuri’s brown eyes, as Viktor had hoped. Along with his penchant for sleep. 

“She’s so tiny.” Phichit whispered, as if any loud noise would ruin the moment.

“Completely healthy.” The nurse added. “She didn’t even need time in the NICU. She has strong lungs.”

“Of course. She’s perfect.” Viktor found a tiny hand among the blankets and kissed it. 

He held her for the hour it took for Yuuri to wake up, finally moving from eyelids fluttering to a dazed but focused gaze. His grip tightened on Viktor’s hand, squeezing it for a split second before he was exhausted. 

“Yuuri. Love.You did great. Look.” Viktor tried to stand, but he grimaced-- it didn’t hurt. But it felt wrong. Yuuri’s brow crinkled and he squinted-- his glasses were nowhere to be found. He found the bed controls easily-- practice from his earlier stay, no doubt.

“Is she okay?” Yuuri whispered, his voice dry and hoarse.

“She’s perfect. Did you hold her?” Victor tried to lift his elbows and angle the sleeping baby better.

“Not yet..” Yuuri reached out, but was caught by the IV and pulse oximeter clipped to his finger.

“Relax.” Viktor shifted. The nurse stepped forward, transferring Akari between Viktor and Yuuri. Yuuri sank back against the bed, a serene smile replacing the exhaustion on his face.

“She has your mouth. And nose.” Yuuri cooed, touching one of her round cheeks. 

“Fanboy.” Phichit giggled. Viktor wished he had his phone, if only to take a photo. He tried to commit the image to memory.

“Do you want to try nursing?” The nurse hovered, watching Yuuri stroked Akari’s cheek.

Yuuri nodded, lifting his shoulders as the nurse pulled his hospital gown off his shoulders. She helped unwind the blankets from around Akari. She was dressed in a standard white onesie, instead of the one that had been sent from Hasetsu and sat packed in a bag back home. 

“Is it safe?” Viktor fretted, trying to sit closer to the bed.

“The anticonvulsant has worked out of his system by now.” The nurse hummed, oblivious to the sick feeling back to brewing in Viktor’s stomach.

“Anticonvulsant?” Yuuri had another seizure, and a long one if he had been given medicine for it.

“I’m fine.” Yuuri said stubbornly, cradling his daughter against his chest. “You’re the one wrapped up and in an IV.”

“You were sedated.” Viktor retorted. “You have a hole in your neck.”

“They wouldn’t let me see you.” Yuuri replied calmly. The nurse helped position the baby, as if this was an ordinary conversation.

“I just broke a leg and had to get it set in surgery. I bumped my head, but I remember what happened. It’s my fault this happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Yuuri’s voice grew stronger. “Someone drove into you.” His fingers curled into fists. “You never hurt me.”

“I love you, moya solnyshko.” Viktor pressed is lips togethers. He knew Yuuri was on the edge-- of anger or panic-- something. His eyes sparkled, but as always, Yuuri was good at holding himself together in public.

“I love you too.” His voice was softer, his eyes falling to their baby on his chest.

“Vitya, you stupid boy!” Yakov growled as he marched into the room. Phichit pressed himself into a corner. Yuri was used to their dynamic and didn’t so much as flinch. “Only you would ruin any chance of competition and leave a hospital bed!”

“Yakov, look. Your granddaughter.” Viktor’s face lit up with a smile. “Do you want to hold her?”

Yakov was silent, momentarily disarmed. “I want you back in your room and safe.”

“I’m fine! I can walk perfectly--” Viktor stood up, using the arm rail of the bed to keep his weight off his splinted leg. “Here, let me take Katya---oop!” Viktor’s sock slipped on the linoleum floor. He fell, sparks flying through his vision as fresh pain lit up through his hip.

“Fuck, Viktor! You had hairline fractures--” Yakov dipped into a long string of russian expletives.   
Yuuri’s finger jammed the call button and he shook like a leaf.

“I’m--- fine--” Viktor grunted. He didn’t dare try to stand up-- anything that shot over paint medication was bad. He could hear Yuuri whimper-- and if he could see over the edge of the bed, he’d see the stream of tears on his cheeks too.

“They should have strapped you down, boy.” Yakov grunted-- he was sharking too, watching as a nurse stepped in and immediately turned heel. The guests were forced to leave as a team of nurses lifted Viktor onto a mobile bed and took him out of the obstetrics ward, leaving Yuuri alone.

~

“Hello, angel.”Viktor slurred, smiling up at Yuuri’s face. The bruise on his face was darker-- older and turning yellow at the edges. But time didn’t have much meaning, other than Viktor’s lower half being encased in a cast and a heavy dose of medicine keeping him in bed.

Yuuri didn’t smile. He was in his sweatpants and an old shirt of Viktor’s-- he’d been discharged from the hospital but hadn’t left the building since he had been brought there in an ambulance. The basinette they had ordered for the apartment was set up in Viktor’s hospital room, and the couch was covered with pillows and blankets.

“Don’t call me that,” Yuuri said softly, brushing hair back from Viktor’s face.

“Why?” Viktor whined. “You’re perfect.”

“You’re not dead.” Yuuri’s tone was short. His eyes had dark circles underneath them, and his hair stuck up in adorable bed-head.

“You are my heaven,” Viktor smiled when he got Yuuri to blush.

“Stop,” Yuuri said a little more softly. “Akari can hear you.”

“Let me see her,” Viktor mubled. Yuuri lifted her out of her basinette, cradling her and adjusting the little skirt sewn over the brightly colored onesie. It looked like a more feminine and baby friendly stammi vicino costume, half of it blue and half of it purple, her tiny feet in black footies with soft satin skating blades.

Viktor cooed as Yuuri set Akari on his chest and hovered nearby, keeping his hands ready to catch her if she slipped. “So well dressed!

“Kaasan made it.” They had compromised and opened some of the shower gifts out of necessity.

“She looks less squished.” Viktor touched the newborn on the nose. She had a full head of hair, whispy and dark but chestnut brown in bright light. Yuuri smiled at that and shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Viktor cuddled with his daughter but spoke to his husband. “Everything is different.”

“You need to be careful. Akari needs you.” Yuuri stared at his baby and how her mittened hands waved and batted against her father.

“And you?”

“I don’t love you because you can skate...or walk… I love you because...you..” yuuri’s voice grew teary. “You need to be more careful, Vitya.”

~  
Viktor was finally released from the hospital three days later. The cast was uncomfortable and the pain pills didn’t hit the same, but Viktor was elated to finally be home with his new family of three.

That was, until they rolled from the hospital entrance to the curb. Yakov jumped out the the rented van-- it had a wheelchair lift and enough room for Yuuri and a carseat in the same row. Viktor grinned as he rolled onto the lift and was buckled into the floor-- freedom.

Then came Akari, the nurses making sure that the car seat was secure and put in quickly.

“Solnyshko--” viktor sang, leaning forward to look out the car door. Yuuri stood on the side walk, his hands folded under his arms. His eyes were red, his skin pale.

“Yuuri? Come,” Viktor’s happy tone faded. Yuuri shook his head, rooted to the spot. 

“Come on Katsudon, people are waiting for us to move.” Yuri called from the front seat. He had claimed it and spent the whole time enjoying the heated seat and stereo system on the trip from the rental store. 

Yuuri didn’t move, his head bowed and arms tight around his chest.

“Katsudon, move!” Yuri threw up his hands.

“He’s scared of cars,” Viktor breathed, realizing and dread dawning on him.

“So? It’s not like he can walk home.” Yuri scoffed.

“Yura, go in the back.” Yakov grunted. “You pull him in. Vitya, you help hold him in. “

The two skaters stared dumbfounded at the old coach-- until Viktor nodded, his expression dark with determination.

Yuri crawled to the back row and fit himself between Viktor’s legs and the front seat. He muttered about kidnapping as Yakov pushed Yuuri forward and Yuri grabbed him around his waist and pulled him up into the van. Yuri cursed at the scramble-- Yuuri began to fight back. Viktor fought to get his arms around him and hug Yuuri tight, even as he cried out. He stroked his husbands hair as he hypeventilated,but did not fight against Viktor’s touch like he had with Yuuri.Yakov drove carefully, but faster than he should have, just to stop hearing Yuuri’s sobbing begs to stop and to be let out.

“It’s okay. We’re almost there,” Viktor hummed. He felt a sense of loss when they pulled in front of their apartment building and Yuuri scrambled for the door. But he stopped thinking about himself when he heard Yuuri retch into the decorative shrubs lining the entrance.

Viktor could worry about their life-- the hospital was too far to walk to, even if Russia was warm enough. Their world shrunk without the use of a car-- they’d never made it to the airport and back home to Hasetsu. But that was something for tomorrow. Viktor was healing from a career-ending injury, the birth of his daughter and the tenuous mental health of his soul mate. He just had to make it through the first day.

~

“This seems extravagant.” Viktor watched as the lift was installed next to their bed-- Akari’s bassinette moved to the other side of the bed. Yuuri buzzed around the apartment, clearing new paths for Viktor’s wheelchair to follow. Akari slept in a sling pulled against Yuuri’s chest. They’d have a home nurse come in the mornings and afternoons to help Viktor in and out of bed until Yuuri recovered from giving birth and could lift more than a few kilograms. 

“Then you can stay in bed forever,” Yuuri snapped, sneaking behind Viktor’s chair to dip into the master bathroom. The heating was on low-- Yuuri was bundled up, from thick layers around his hips to a nursing tank underneath the shirts with sneaky zippers he had moved to exclusively wearing. It was hard to touch him and actually feel his soft belly or slim waist, even as it shrunk back to its pre-pregnancy size.

“Yuuri-- Viktor whined.” He watched the rest of the medical equipment he’d need. Some of it was familiar, but after his second fall he had done more damage than Yuuri had. It required more intensive physical care.

“Are you in pain?” Yuuri whirled around--- he had been in constant movement since they had settled back home two days before. Yuuri had bounced from bedroom to kitchen and watched the team of nurses lift and transfer Viktor before the lift was delivered. For the first time in their lives Yuuri was awake before Viktor, although his night owl tendencies didn’t end. Akari ate every hour whether it was two in the morning or two in the afternoon. 

“I’m fine.” Viktor waved his hands. “Amazing, really. Thank you.”

~  
Akari was five weeks old and Viktor struggled.

He could navigate his chair into the bathroom fine, but that didn’t prepare himself to find bloodstained boxers in the clothing hamper next to a spit-up stained onesie.

It didn’t prepare him for finding Yuuri asleep on his feet, a bottle of half-mixed formula in his hand.

He couldn’t even lift Akari in the middle of the night and lay her on Yuuri’s chest to nurse. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor had spoken up the day he had found Yuuri asleep on top of a basket of laundry. “We can hire a full time nurse-- for me or Akari.”

“We don’t need to.You took care of me without one.” Yuuri had shot back with a tone of finality.

“This is different--”

“I haven’t had a seizure since I had Akari. We’re doing fine.”

Viktor thought himself as rather independant-- he prided himself on getting where he was on his own power.

But this was different.

He waited until Yuuri fell asleep on the couch during one of the rare times Akari was content to lay in her rocker and stare at the mobile dangling above her.

“Okaasan?” His voice shook as the ringing stopped and someone picked up the phone in Hasetsu. He interrupted their usual spiel

“Ah, Vicchan! Everything okay?”

“I--we need you here. Yuuri needs help.” Viktor swallowed, his throat unusually tight. “I’ll buy the ticket-- anything. Please.”

~  
Yuuri sat down and ate for the first time in weeks at the command of his mother- katsudon, of course. The first time Viktor and Yuuri were alone-- Hiroko walking in the sun with her granddaughter in arm-- Yuuri slept for four hours. Hiroko unpacked Yuuri’s old basinette and built it in their bedroom-- and then taught Viktor how to adjust the height and lift Akari safely out of it from the bed.

Yuuri slower got color back in his cheeks and the bundles of bloody pads stopped filling the bathroom trash can. 

Viktor shared their first family portrait-- shot by Hiroko-- on instagram the same day as the Grand Prix qualifier Yuuri had been assigned to before their lives had changed.

Akari was six months old when Viktor graduated from his wheelchair. He felt like an old man-- tired by late nights. Viktor couldn’t remember the last time his home hadn’t held some sort of medical device. Hiroko had returned to Hasetsu after the cast removal, and her absence was felt. But Akari had finally found her schedule, and Yuuri could make it through the day without falling asleep on his feet.

“Yuuri--” Viktor called from the couch-- he had no idea how badly he had missed simply sitting on a couch unaided. “You are simply stunning.”

Yuuri laughed, throwing Makkachin’s toy back in its basket. “Do my pajamas turn you on?”

“Your body….” Viktor purred, the words dying on his lips. “I want to touch it.”

Yuuri picked up another toy. “Not so loud. Akari’s sleeping.”

“Yuuri… we haven’t had sex since she was born.” Viktor sighed.

“I sucked you off the day your cast came off.” Yuuri said bluntly.

“But what about you? Yuuri, I want to take care of you.” Viktor caught him around his waist as he walked by the couch.

“I’ll call and see if its and approved part of physio--” Yuuri gasped at Viktor’s nip at his neck.

“I need this, Yuuri. I need you.” Viktor moaned. Yuuri melted into his lap.

“I’m--all--yours,” Yuuri panted squirmed at Viktor’s touch.

~

“Gross,” Yuri spat at the two married rinkmates on the ice. Lilia held Akari, letting her watch her parents from the warmth of the lobby. Viktor could manage two hours on the ice before the pain crept in-- he hadn’t attempted a jump since the night before Yuuri’s last competition. But they were both retired for good-- and the media knew it but never stopped snapping pictures of their family and Yuuri’s baby bump. Yuuri kept to compulsory figures as well, skating circles between pressing kisses to his coach’s cheeks. Nothing could be more scandalous after Akari’s accidental middle finger to the paparazzi that month.

“Let me kiss my Yuuri-” Viktor kissed his husband, making sure to be loud and obnoxious enough so his protege could hear. “And my Nikolai,” He bent to kiss Yuuri’s belly. 

“Vitya, I want to eat taco rice.” Yuuri patted the whorl on the back of his mate’s silver hair.

“Then taco rice you will have.” Viktor felt lighter than he had in months-- maybe even a year. He skated to the board and hurried to change out of his skates so he could help Yuuri out of his. They changed and left the chill of the rink to take Akari from a reluctant Lilia.

“Shh, kiseki-chan. You’ll see Obaachan soon.” Yuuri hushed his fussy daughter.

“What’d you call her?” Viktor squinted, gathering the diaper bag and Akari’s sun hat.

“Oh. Uh… miracle.” Yuuri flushed. “You have Katya, and Akacchan is cute, but…” Yuuri trailed off, embarassed.

“I love it. Our miracle”


End file.
